A Rose in Winter
by finnsgirl994
Summary: After the events in DC, Steve is disillusioned, tired, and plain frustrated. With his new "find-Bucky-buddy" Sam, they travel around the world searching for the Winter Soldier... and then along the way they have to give these two girls a ride. Things go bad, to worse, to maybe a little bit better?
1. Prologue

**This always happens after a Marvel film… I feel like I HAVE to write something, it's an instinct almost at this point haha. Enjoy, read, review if you feel like it! It has an interesting flow but I really am trying to make my writing better, so let me know! **

Scrambling through the icy wastelands of Russia _wasn't exactly _how Sam had envisioned his grand adventure with Steve. He had imagined a leisurely exploration of Germany- perhaps a chance to go to Amsterdam and visit that Red Light District he'd heard so much about. Maybe he would go to the Louvre and see the Mona Lisa up close, try to figure out what the fuss was all about.

He had taken a lot of things for granted- warm bed, some of the time at least, or at least running water and a toilet that could flush.

Sadly, he had not consulted with Steve before signing on to be his "Find Bucky Buddy", so there were no 5 star luxury hotels in their near future. He could handle it, of course- Iraq had been a lesson in survival that he would never forget- but Steve was still better at everything. He'd dyed his hair and beard (that had grown very quickly) a dark brown, disguising his features enough to prevent people from recognizing Captain America. A little bit of self-tanner helped too, disguising his pale Irish skin. Sam hadn't had to do anything- he had no face recognition issues, though he was glad to buy a lot of really cool hunting gear at the airport. It didn't do him much good when his self-starting fire kit fizzled out though, and Steve was able to manage it with a stick and some twigs. Sam wasn't much of an ego guy, so his pride didn't really suffer. Mainly he was excited to be doing something- something bigger than himself, or the army, or the VA.

Steve wasn't exactly open about what they were going to do to find Bucky. SHIELD was gone, and so were the resources that came with it. Nick Fury had taken his leave, going to Europe on his own uknown mission. Agent Hill was working at Stark Industries, from what he'd last heard, and unavailable for service. Even Natasha was gone, disappearing shortly after her hearing. It took a lot of work to be as mysterious as her, it turned out, so she had a lot of repairing to do on her shattered cover.

That left Steve and Sam with zero links- just their wits, strength, and the oodles of money Steve had earned during his sojourn as America's greatest soldier.

Before leaving, Natasha had used up her remaining favors in Eastern Europe where the Winter Soldier had been based. She made contact with people she had left far behind in her past, albeit from a distance.

No obstacle seemed too great- Bucky needed help, according to Steve, and he was the only man to provide it.

Sam hadn't read what was in the file she had given Steve regarding Bucky's training, but he knew that it had to be bad- Steve's entire body went tense the one time he mentioned it. His limited experience with warzone psyches and their impact on a person's mental health told him that the Winter Soldier might be a little past repair- but there was no telling Cap.

Working with Captain America meant it was a little difficult to keep up at times, but sometimes it helped that he had actually lived through the 21st century, especially when it came to customs, and passports, and the TSA. Sam was able to do some research, call in his minor favors at the Army from his time as Falcon. He got a new set of wings, more travel friendly ones, as well as diplomatic immunity for the two of them. Their whereabouts were unknown to anyone- Sam didn't even tell his mama where he was headed.

They started out in Germany, looking for the camp where Zola had experimented on Bucky, but that had turned out to be a dead end, with little to no trace of the forests that had towered over the soldiers all those years ago. The camp had burned down, as had so many remnants of horror that marred that war.

Steve was undeterred, turning to England, where he was able to meet some of Natasha's contacts. They pointed them to the direction of Norway, but Oslo was another disappointment. It continued like that for a few months- no interaction other than between the two of them.

It was okay- though Sam sometimes got a little weirded out by the steely determination with which Steve often pushed them onwards. He was trained to know PTSD, Iraq War Syndrome- the works. But in Steve's case, he fit none of the symptoms, and so Sam continued to trust Steve's judgment.

With SHIELD gone, Steve had no obligations to anyone but himself- unless they came across a situation, in which case neither man hesitated to fight. They met few enemies, none from HYDRA, and so they were mainly able to work without interruption. Work was a lot of waiting for people to meet them in shady bars and coffeehouses- and after two months of nothing, Sam knew his buddy's patience was worn thin.

They were staying in a hostel near the Swiss border- the weather was lovely but they had no time to enjoy it.

It had become a time of last resorts, according to Steve. That was why, with great reluctance, Steve pulled out his barely used cell phone and dialed a number from his contacts.

As the phone rang on speakerphone, Sam could literally see the tension building in Cap's jawline. He had no idea who would be such a cause of stress to the poor guy- until someone finally picked up the phone.

"ICEMAN! Heard you managed to blow up Capitol Hill- even I haven't done that yet."

Steve counted to ten and replied as calmly as he could.

"Hey Stark… Listen, I need a favor."

"I'm all ears, Capsicle. But before this scenario gets too Godfather-esque, I have something I wanna say."

Sam was about to bust his gut from internalizing his laughter- Tony Stark was completely balls to the wall insane, and it didn't surprise him one bit.

"Uh huh. Go on."

"Okay… deep breath… Steve, I gotta thank you for what you did at SHIELD. I wouldn't expect someone as by the book as you to take down the establishment and stick a middle finger to the man, but you did it- and it cost you a fair bit. Had all of us scared, for a bit, but as always you came through. But you also managed to do something I've never been able to do myself."  
Steve looked genuinely surprised. "What's that Stark?"

"You found out who killed my parents. All these years, I've used my money, my influence, my incredibly astonishing brain- just to try and figure out who murdered them. You, in a matter of days, were able to give me peace of mind… I'm not usually mushy, but I just wanted to say thanks. Now we both have HYDRA to aim our fiery justice at, don't we?"

"I guess- listen Stark, you don't have to thank me- don't try to cut me off. I did what I had to do because it was the right thing, and because you're my friend. That's why I need your help. I'm looking to find someone-"

"You mean your friend with Tin Man's arm? Yeah, I've had JARVIS running scans for him ever since I found out what the hell was going on in DC."

Steve looked as flabbergasted as a perfect human being could get, though Sam was glad that maybe the end was in sight.

"I've got his location triangulated to Moscow- he had some ties to the USSR so it makes sense. He hasn't done anything murder-y lately, but he is highly volatile and difficult to track. I've got some scientists in St. Petersburg arguing with the Russian government about some meteor rock they've got stashed away- whatever, point is that is where you oughta head to. I can set up a meeting point- there are definitely some folks who can establish a false job for the Winter Soldier, lure him in. It'd be clean- no blood, because the person they're hired to kill won't be real."

Steve had sat down on the bed by then, scrubbing his face with his hand.

"I… I guess there's no choice for me other than that. Yeah, thanks, I'll do that. We can make it to Moscow by train in 2 days, probably-"

"No way is anyone of my friends taking a train to a top secret rendezvous! A car can pick you up from the dump you're staying at in say… half an hour? Gives you time to pack."

Sam couldn't contain his outburst that time- "How the hell does he know where we are?!"

"He tracks our phone calls, probably. It's easy enough for him." Steve didn't bother to hide the exasperation in his voice as he finished making arrangements. They would go to St. Petersburg first, to pick up Stark's scientists, and then to Moscow.

Sam took a minute to close his eyes and pray- Hopefully things wouldn't go to hell in a handbasket immediately.


	2. Sunrise in Winter

**READ and ENJOY my lovies. I am trying to improve so let me know how I'm doing! **

Darcy fucking hated Russia. She hated the cold, she hated the borsht, and she especially hated the homophobic government- though she did love the vodka. It kept her going during the madness that had been the previous week. She had thought that a trip to Russia with Jane would mean a lot of science-y crap with the mad Russian scientists who wouldn't negotiate about a piece of meteor rock that Jane was convinced came from Alfheim or Nilfheim or some kind of heim. Arguing with Russian scientists via translator wasn't how she envisioned Jane's meeting with the Kremlin R&D department going, but she was flexible- so she coped. Then SHIELD fell, and everything fell with it, as both women watched horrified on their tiny hotel TV screen. For a while, Jane thought she was done for- all her research was in a lab in New York, thank goodness, so that was safe- but the funding, the support- it was all gone.

Even worse, they were stranded in Russia, and without SHIELD backing, they were as good as dead. Jane had made a lot of Russia's scientific elite furious in a matter of days (she was always fiery when it came to astrophysics) and the chances of them getting robbed or kidnapped were pretty high.

After drinking and panicking for a while, Darcy made Jane unlock her SHIELD issued phone, and then snatched it from her, scrolling through her contacts.

"What're you doing Darce?" Jane's voice was a watery hiccup- a throwback to when they had believed Thor was never coming back. Darcy wasn't going to let Jane get all weepy on her watch; thus, with a lot more bravado than necessary, she hit dial on the number on the screen.

"Hello, you have reached the private line of Tony Stark. Please state your name and verify your identity via thumbprint scan."

Darcy elbowed Jane, who quickly spoke up.

"Dr. Jane Foster! Here's my thumb!"

It only took about a half hour, but after much finagling, arguing, and a little bit of bribery, Darcy got Stark on the phone.

Iron Maiden blared in the background and it sounded like construction was going on as Tony Stark, multibillionaire, sang out,

"What's cooking, Thor's Girlfriend?"

Darcy replied before Jane could get any more upset.

"For the record, you are speaking to DOCTOR Thor's Girlfriend, and we need help. Since SHIELD has gone kablooey, our funding and transport has gone to smoke. We would love to have a meeting with Stark Industries Research and Development- I believe you said there would be a place for Dr. Foster if she ever needed one?"

And there was a place. Just like that, Jane had a sponsor, and funding, and a way for Darcy to pay the rent again.

There was only the tiny matter of getting hem the hell out of St. Petersburg- as nice as the city was, Darcy was ready to return to American soil.

Stark was all too happy to oblige, citing that an old friend would come to pick them up that day.

It was surprisingly simple, and that made Darcy Nervous with a capital N. Jane was happy, though, so she shelved her fears for later and attempted the real challenge of finding a thank you gift for the superhero who had just swooped in and saved their respective asses.

She settled on a cute Iron Man themed Matryoshka doll set and by the time it was 4 PM, she and Jane were shivering by their suitcases outside their less that respectable hotel. Their ride was late, and Darcy was cold enough that she was willing to give Nick Fury himself a tongue lashing for keeping them out in the frigid air. The light was fading quickly, and both women drew closer to one another. It wasn't exactly a dangerous part of town, but the world was absolutely insane and there was no telling who was gonna mug them.

That was the topic of debate between Jane and Darcy when their car pulled up- a large black Suburban that evoked too many memories of SHIELD.

"I'm just saying, Dr. Doom has a penchant for stirring up shit with the randomest people! I am convinced that he would love to know how to jump from dimension to dimension- and you'd be just the gal to kidnap."

Jane refused to agree with her but couldn't refute Darcy's (ironclad) argument, as the car door had opened.

Darcy whirled around to lambast the idiot who had kept them waiting but suddenly lost her voice-

"Uh, Dr. Foster? I'm Steve. We ran a bit late at a check stop, I'm so sorry about the wait."

Jane turned to Darcy, who normally would have replied, but for some reason her assistant was clearly going through a psychotic breakdown as she covered her face with her hands and shook her head.

"Miss? Are you alright?" A second voice boomed, and out came another very handsome man.

Jane shrugged and began to shake hands with the men. They took the ladies' bags and settled them in the trunk, and before long, they were off on the six hour ride to Moscow.

Darcy recovered about 20 minutes into the drive, by which time she had learned that she was in fact going to Moscow with Steve Rogers/Captain America, and Sam Wilson who was another bonafide superhero known as Falcon. Jane and Sam were both fast asleep, and that left Darcy staring uncomfortably at her scuffed boots and Steve literally twiddling his thumbs.

She kept catching herself glancing at his face- it was a little more weathered than the propaganda posters she had loved as a kid, and his hair was a lot darker, but underneath that beard was a hero of the highest order- ranking up there on Darcy's list next to Beyonce and Princess Diana.

The silence was seriously beginning to bother Darcy, who had never had trouble with what to say to men- normally they thought she talked too much- but she just felt like anything she said to Steve would be disrespectful, or insensitive, or just flat out rude.

It took a lot of self-motivating, but Darcy finally mustered up the courage to say,

"Hi."

Before she could kill herself right then and there, Steve smiled- and it was such a beautiful smile that it caught Darcy off guard.

"Did you know you have the prettiest smile I've ever seen on a man?"

"I wouldn't say I do, but thanks… I suppose?"

Darcy blushed but barreled on, undaunted.

"It's definitely a compliment! So many people don't know how to smile, it's a genuine pleasure to meet someone with a killer grin."

"Well then, I'm glad to know that. I've been meaning to ask, what kind of scientist are you? I know your friend is into… Thor kind of science, but what about you?"

Darcy dissolved into muffled giggles at "Thor kind" but she controlled them enough to shake her head.

"I'm the political kind of scientist- as in I do no actual science. Jane needed an intern a long time ago, and then I was the only applicant- which turned out for the best, since Thor kind of entered our lives with a bit of a thud. Then SHIELD complicated everything, and then Loki messed up New York, and then Dark Elves attacked London… yeah so basically I just follow around Jane and help her out as best as possible. It's been stressful, with SHIELD gone… I dunno what we would've done if it hadn't been for Tony Stark of all people."

Steve seemed to laugh at a private joke.

"I know the feeling. He's… interesting."

"I've never heard so many unsaid things in one sentence before. You can be honest- he's a bit of a jackass, right? I love the man's confidence, and respect him for the super genius that he is… but he is an idiot with a capital I."

Steve laughed again, and Darcy felt a little better.

She pulled out her phone, hoping to plug in her headphones and drift away for a while. Quickly she drifted off to sleep.

Darcy had been dreaming of Steve winning a wet t-shirt contest when the car collided into something- rather, something collided with the car. Whatever it was had Steve launching himself out the side window and after whatever it was that had hit them.

Darcy heard a faint moan behind her; turning, she realized that the driver, Jane, and Sam had received the brunt of the impact- each had been knocked unconscious from the force of the crash.

First aid not being her forte, Darcy did her best to use her scarf as a wrap bandage on a bleeding cut on the driver's forehead, after which she checked Jane's pulse to make sure she wasn't concussed. Sam was just plain knocked out, and there wasn't much she could do about that.

The sky had grown pitch black after two hours on the road- they were surrounded by trees on a lonely road that was one way only. The scenario was not good, and the only one capable of defending them all was knocked out cold. Darcy rooted through her bag until her fingers closed around a familiar cool plastic object. Pulling on her gloves and hat, she took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and then got out of the car.

Outside, fresh snow was falling. The road was icy, forcing Darcy to step gingerly around the car as she inspected the damage. There wasn't actually much wrong with the back, where Darcy and Steve had been sitting- it was the front that had a short and deep dent in it, obviously slammed down onto the hood of the car. How it was possible to achieve that feat with a moving vehicle was beyond even Darcy's meager understanding of physics- it made her more wary than afraid, and she turned the switch on her taser to high.

The night was silent, in a way that made Darcy's breathing sound incessantly loud. There was definitely something out there- and Steve was chasing it alone. That thought gave her pause, as she looked for footprints following the path he had taken. The snow had partially obscured it, but there was still enough that Darcy could see how far out he had run. She was afraid to leave the car with its unconscious inhabitants, but she was worried about Steve. He was probably far more capable than she was at defending himself, and her presence was probably unwanted; somehow, that didn't stop Darcy.

Darcy had a ball of yarn that she hadn't started on from her knitting set (she was an old woman and proud of it) and she used that as a means to return to the Suburban. The fuchsia of the yarn gleamed in the moonlight against the pale white snow, as Darcy tromped as quietly as she could.

She had walked maybe a quarter of a mile when she ran out of yarn- Darcy felt like she had gone a million miles, and there was no sign of Steve or the mysterious cause of the crash.

The moonlight was oddly bright, it seemed; maybe they were closer to the sky, maybe it was just the fearful atmosphere enveloping Darcy. Just as she was about to give up and turn around, a shout rang through the quiet air.

Darcy couldn't make out who was yelling, but she ran blindly in its direction, taser at the ready.

She reached a clearing where two figures were fighting- though Darcy could hardly refer to it as that. Steve was obviously the one in the parka, moving almost too fast to see- but there was a second figure, shorter and darker and _faster_. He was landing solid hits on Steve, one after another- each landing with a resounding_ thwack_ that made Darcy cringe. Steve didn't seem affected by it- and then she realized that he was letting the other man hit him- allowing him to win.

"BUCKY! BUCKY, YOU KNOW ME. YOU KNOW ME!"

It was the Winter Soldier, obviously. She knew enough, read enough news, and had enough information from SHIELD before its demise to understand that this was the man Steve was pursuing. He never openly referred to it but it hung in the air between them, heavy like a pollutant. He was there in Russia to save his friend- to rescue him, from whatever it was that trapped him.

It was almost enough to make Darcy feel bad for the soldier- until he began running toward her at unbelievable speed. She tried to get away, stumbling on roots and ice slippery beneath her feet. It was dark and she was hyperventilating, and she couldn't move fast enough. A strong grip yanked her to her left and she nearly fell. The arm held her up though, and belatedly, Darcy realized that somehow Steve had got to her before the Winter Soldier. Steve put a finger to his lips, his gaze fierce in a way she couldn't have imagined in someone so kind and pleasant.

Before she could respond in any way, he sprinted off to distract his enemy. Darcy stood and shivered, shock trickling down her spine like cold water. Steve's voice grew fainter, and she couldn't help but wish he'd come back.

"Stupid, stupid girl… thinking you could help him. He's a supersoldier for fuck's sake! What could you even contribute?!" Darcy berated herself aloud, a trait inherited from generations of Lewis women who believed in beating one's self up once in a while.

She scuffed her boots and cursed Urban Outfitters for their shitty quality "leather" or what faux material they had used.

Darcy's toes were going numb and she was kicking a tree lightly to create sensation in them, when she felt a touch on her shoulder, light as a feather. She pivoted and there was no one. "It's the wind, right?"

She was still talking out loud, too afraid to notice.

"Hello?" Darcy's voice quavered and she wished that she could even pretend to be brave, if only for the sake of false impressions.

"Is anyone out there?! For god's sake, if you wanna off me than just get it over with!"

A chuckle permeated the air, eerie and rusty sounding- out of place, in the barren environment around them. Darcy whirled around, searching for the source of the sound. There wasn't anybody around her, but she was absolutely positive she wasn't alone.

Her temper shot, Darcy gave up on being cautious.

"HEY FUCKER! Whoever you are! If you wanna hurt me, hurt me! If you wanna cut me up or shoot me down then do it, but don't fuck around like some kind of prima donna drama queen! I know you can HEAR ME!"

Darcy's breath fogged her glasses and for an instant she couldn't see- when the moisture faded away on the lenses, a figure stood a few yards away from her.

"You're the Winter Soldier, aren't you?"

The man lifted his head, nodding in a way that could only be described as bone chilling.

"I suppose you don't give two fucks if I live or die, do ya?"

He smiled again, a quirking of the lips that might have been attractive a century ago. He looked like a lion surveying its prey, and Darcy felt too similar to a gazelle for her own tastes.

"I don't suppose you're feeling merciful, are you?"

The Winter Soldier approached her then, in long lazy strides that ate up the ground between them. Darcy stood her ground, determined to die as the stupidly brave intern she knew she was.

Instead of striking her down, though, he just looked at her.

Without realizing it, Darcy lowered her taser- there was just something in his eyes that didn't say death and destruction.

"Are you… are you gonna do it?"

The Winter Soldier ignored her and asked his own queston.

"Who is Bucky?"

"Whuzzat?!"

He didn't repeat himself; she thought about it for a minute, and then she remembered… and then her mouth fell open.

"OH- oh… okay. Bucky Barnes was… is Captain America, Steve Rogers' best friend. They grew up together as neighbors in Brooklyn."

The Winter Soldier, or Bucky, as Darcy realized, winced as he listened, though nothing she was saying should have caused any major trauma.

"You were named James I think… James Buchanan Barnes. You were in the Army. You fought for the allies, were captured by Nazis I think… Steve rescued you and hundreds of others."

Darcy scrounged her brain for any other bit of American history she could recall on the subject, desperately hoping to maintain that slightly inquisitive, bored look on Bucky's face. It sure beat him wanting to murder her- she'd talk to death if that saved her life.

It didn't matter though- the Winter Soldier had no plans to kill her.

Without waiting for her to finish her sentence, he lifted her easily over his shoulder and turned. Darcy attempted to scream, tried to make any sound at all- but he gave her a look that promised absolute horrors for her. It silenced Darcy, and so she watched the forest diminish in size until it was gone and she was suddenly on an ATV. The engine didn't make too much noise, but in the silence it was deafening, and Darcy started to cry.

Bucky ignored her, navigating the vehicle up the mountain expertly. Darcy didn't dare get off, too afraid of getting lost in the rocky terrain to dream of it. Her kidnapper felt no need to speak, so the ride was terrifying and silent.

Darcy imagined how Jane and Sam were doing, injured and vulnerable. How could she abandon them? Leave them to die, defenseless? She tried to assuage her fears, convincing herself that Steve had to have reached them, helped them to safety- they'd go home without her and do the good work that were meant to do.

She'd be remembered fondly as the girl who poked her nose a little too far and had finally paid the price.

Darcy was about to laugh at how dramatic she was being when she realized that the ATV had stopped moving. The Winter Soldier grabbed her, dragging her by the arm towards what looked like an abandoned shack. It resembled a typical axe-murderer's lair, and Darcy wished that the Winter Soldier was just a simple axe murderer.

They entered the shack and he unceremoniously showed her to a chair. It was sparsely furnished, with walls that creaked with every changing turn of the wind. There was, thankfully, a fireplace that had embers glowing in it. Bucky got to work lighting it, a surprising move. He didn't seem to be bothered by the cold, considering the fact that he was wearing a simple leather jacket over a raggedy sweater in negative degrees temperature. Darcy tried not to think of what kind of conditioning could render a human being impervious to freezing weather, but she did realize that if Bucky Barnes could learn to deal with physical pain, surely it meant that there was a strength in his mind…

And maybe, somewhere inside, the man Steve remembered remained.

Darcy was pulled from her reverie when Bucky thrust a piece of bread and an apple at her, sitting roughly across from her on an arm chair which had seen better days.

She didn't hesitate to eat, starving from the exertion of running in the cold. The apple was bruised but still sweet, and the bread tasted homemade.

She chose not to speak up even after she finished- instead, she watched him watch her. His gaze was unrelenting in a way that unnerved her. He felt no pause in staring at her, never breaking eye contact. It was probably 20 minutes before he leaned back in his seat and did that weird half smile thing again.

"What's so funny," fell out of Darcy's mouth before she could stop herself. He didn't stop smirking though.  
"I suppose my weak helplessness amuses you, but I'll have you know I brought down a Norse God with a taser once, all by myself!"

Bucky startled her by leaning forward and grabbing her by the wrist. His grip was far too tight, indicating to Darcy that the Winter Soldier wasn't exactly holding hands with girls that often.

"I need you to tell me about Steve Rogers."

Darcy was a little surprised but she had hope. She had written two or three major papers in years at Culver, all focusing on Captain America, and his role in WWII and ending it. She thought about it though, and then chose to ignore her textbook quotes and articles.

Taking a deep breath, Darcy cast her mind back to a file she had hacked into a year and a half back, when she was still pissed off at SHIELD and fearless of any consequences.

"Steve… he was a kid from Brooklyn, like I said. He was small, and sickly, and probably shouldn't have made it to puberty. He's stubborn though, I barely know him but I can tell you that. He made it alright, but he could never win a thing- fights, or the draft. He wanted to fight… it said that, that he wanted to fight so bad he lied about his identity and his health. You fought too. You were brave and good, fighting in the war overseas. Steve was a different kind of brave though. He did eventually get to join the army, because of a scientist… his name escapes me, but he made Steve the super soldier he is today. Steve went through basic training- he sucked at it, apparently- so badly it was physically painful to watch. But he made it- and he met a girl. You might remember her, the British lady- Peggy Carter. She was brave too, maybe braver than all of you boys in uniforms. I loved her when I was little, imagining that I could be her and win wars despite people being more interested in my tits than my brain. Anyways, Steve and she were always close. Even when he became a supersoldier, and he got put to use as a propaganda machine actor, he cared about Peggy and he cared about you. So when he found out by chance that you were captured… he threw caution to the wind. He took a plane and singlehandedly saved you and your entire regiment, fighting Red Skull and killing members of HYDRA. We studied them so closely in college, I couldn't believe that they managed to insinuate themselves in SHIELD so thoroughly. You should know, he's desperate to figure out a way to help you. It's all for you, because that's the way he is. He… he wants you to be happy. So if you want to hurt him, or kill him- do it because you're programmed that way. Don't do it because you're scared of what he has to say… or because you're scared to know who you are."

Darcy stopped, as Bucky's grip on her wrist grew too tight. The cybernetic arm squeezed and squeezed and suddenly Darcy heard a crack, clear as day.

Pain welled through her arm and Bucky let go instantly.  
"FUCK! Ow, dammit!" Cradling her obviously broken wrist, Darcy rose from her chair and backed away.

Bucky looked slightly contrite- if emotions were even possible for him.

She knew it probably was an accident, but surely a guy like him had a handle on his superstrength?

Whatever the case, she knew she would never text as fast ever again. Before she could get too depressed, the door was flung open and there stood one Captain America, angry and noble as ever. Darcy wanted to cheer with joy, but then she saw Sam behind Steve, carrying a still unconscious Jane in his arms.

"What happened?!"

Sam replied as Steve entered the room in a way that made it feel way too small for all of them. "Jane didn't come to when I did, and not for a while after. I was too zonked to realize… hypothermia. She's freezing and we were able to follow the tracks up here."

Darcy ignored Bucky's gaze which was now aimed at Steve. She made Sam lay Jane down on the lumpy bed, mindful of the potential bed bugs.

She took a moment, asking Sam to help her rip up some sheets to fasten some kind of sling for her. It didn't really help, but she was too scared for Jane to care.

Without a thought, she began to strip off her outer clothing as swiftly as she could with a broken wrist.

"What are you doing?!" Steve's alarm almost made Darcy laugh. "I'm going to get Jane warm again. If you want you could just face the other way, I won't be stripping or anything."

Not waiting for a reply, she returned to removing her clothing. It took a minute, but Darcy was able to get down to her tee shirt and panties, realizing then just how cold the room was.

"Build up the fire! And hand me that blanket. Someone help me undress Jane!"

Sam was able to overcome any shyness (he was in the army, after all) and removed Jane's clothing efficiently. Darcy crawled next to her boss, wrapping her arms around her. She almost recoiled at how chilled her flesh felt, but she held on like a barnacle.  
"Come on boss lady. You have a hunk of blond just waiting for you up in space, and he's gonna be pissed if a little cold gets you down. In fact he might blame Loki, you know how he's into the whole ice scene- and then it'll be a thing, and they'll be fighting, and it'll all go to shit again. So don't die, got it?"

Sam and Steve were by then standing near Bucky, close enough to curtail him but far enough to give him his space.

The latter did not speak, did not even glance at the women. He just gazed at the then roaring fire, without acknowledging the others' presence.

Darcy continued to baby talk Jane, and soon she began to reply softly. It wasn't working fast enough though. She communicated as much through her eyes as she realized that Jane was still too cold. Surprisingly, Steve responded first, removing his parka, then his sweater, and so on until he was down to a pair of boxer briefs so tight they made Darcy believe in God again.

He climbed in next to Jane and wrapped his arms around both of them.

"Jesus Christ! You're like a damn furnace!"

Sam snorted and everyone turned to look at him. He averted their attention by commenting on the rising sun. Everyone ignored him and Darcy focused on the gift the good Lord had given her that fine day. Sure, her wrist was broken, and she was potentially trapped in Russia. On the other hand? She got Captain America to go to bed with her- never mind the hypothermia.

He really was warm though; heat radiated off his body like the sun on a summer day. Jane started to respond more and more clearly. After a half hour or so, she was alright, albeit very tired.

Darcy was dressed by then, glad to be in her clothes again in the frigid cabin air.

Steve was also dressed, and trying to talk to Bucky, who hadn't left his seat at the table in hours.

His silence, disconcerting as it was, gave off no sense of danger. In fact, he seemed to tolerate Steve's earnest imploring with all the patience of a cat listening to its owner talk to it.

Sadly, Steve got nowhere with his old friend. It was almost heartbreaking to watch him bring up story after story, one memory after another. It just wasn't working, and Darcy finally couldn't stand to watch it anymore.

"Hey! Sorry to interrupt Steve. I just had an idea that I think is worth exploring. Bucky, you don't have anyone to answer to now, right?"

At Bucky's nod to the affirmative, Darcy threw her hands in the air.

"There you go- Bucky, you are free! You are free to do whatever the fuck you want! Whether it's to murder everyone in this room or go eat a goddamn bucket of friend chicken, it is YOUR choice!"

Sam stepped between Darcy and Steve, who was absolutely glowering at her.

Darcy wasn't done yet, though.

"Ok, so maybe no murder would be good- but you haven't been your own man in decades. You were robbed, Bucky! Your mind and body were manipulated and abused by evil people- whatever you may be, you aren't a bad man. You are a good man who was made to do bad things, and that was never your fault- nor is it Steve's, or anyone else's but HYDRA's."

Bucky's face had lost its placid mask, his gaze firmly planted on Darcy's face. It was clear he was listening, and even Steve lost his anger and regained a tiny ounce of hope.

Darcy didn't continue- she stood supporting her bad arm as best as she could. Bucky didn't respond, as expected, but he did get up. Everyone gave him a wide berth but there was no need. He merely grabbed two flattish pieces of kindling from near the fire place and motioning to Darcy, began to fashion a splint for her wrist.

"Oh! Oh that feels so much better! Thank you Bucky!"

Darcy, out of habit, quickly hugged Bucky with her good side- then she froze, as both of Bucky's arms came around her, gingerly and slowly. He didn't quite hug back but he did hold her. It was a tense moment, as Sam and Steve stood very near her just in case Bucky got violent. He didn't though; he remained in Darcy's embrace for almost 2 minutes, which was a very long time for anyone.

As quickly as the awkward hug began, it ended. Bucky grabbed his pack off the ground and turned to face Darcy alone, pointedly ignoring everyone else.

"I'm leaving. I have to talk to some people… See some things for myself. If I think I need to, I will find you again."

And without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out the door, sunlight streaming into the dingy cabin with all the majesty of winter sunrise.

Steve made to follow him, but Jane stopped him. She was wrapped in a parka too big for her, but her cheeks were red again. She placed a gentle hand on his arm and rubbed it soothingly.

"I know it's tough to see him like this, but he wasn't talking to Darcy. Sure, he talked TO Darcy, but his words were meant for you."

Darcy was slightly offended but she grasped on the chance to cheer up the Captain.

"He'll be back, for sure. I think the best place for you to be right now is a familiar place, easy for him to find you- Brooklyn, or even just New York would work."

Steve was a reasonable man, and though Darcy could see the struggle on his face, she was relieved when he agreed.

"I guess New York makes sense. Plus, I have to meet up with the rest of the team, regroup. Figure out what our next move is. You all are welcome to follow- I would feel better knowing you were safe at Stark Industries, honestly."

Jane laughed, remembering her earlier panic about her lab and research. It seemed like everything was topsy turvy again, just the way Darcy liked it- the winds of her fate were changing, and she was willing to follow them for once.


	3. Night Ride

**Before I start this, I wanted to clarify a few things. First, the pairing is ambiguous because I wanted it that way. You'll see why. As for Steve's strange behavior, I'm just trying to explore the different facets of his character. Think of his instant antagonism to Tony Stark in "Avengers" and you see my point. He's flawed, and to write him as perpetually charming would be an injustice to the character. Thanks for reading, and I hope hope hope you all like it!**

The night wind was cool on Steve's face as he drove through the streets of Brooklyn. It was late, too late even for New Yorkers to be out and about yet- but Steve was patrolling the streets on his bike. There were few lights on beyond the constant reassurance of stoplights, and the moon was silvery against a dark sky. Normally, Steve would have adored taking the streets on his bike, but a part of him wasn't focused on the road before him or the motorcycle he sat upon.

Even though the noises, the smells, the very air about him screamed New York, Steve was still in Russia. He was still in that forest, pristine white but for him fighting Bucky- or rather, blocking his hits, and avoiding hurting him as much as he could. He had been shouting- he tended to do that when he was stressed, and perhaps that wasn't the best choice but then that brunette scientist woman had ruined everything.

"I could've talked him out of it" ran through Steve's mind like a ticker, endless and droning. He knew it was probably irrational of him to be upset with the girl for interrupting his fight with Bucky, but she had thrown him off. He had expected her to stay with her friend and Sam- maybe even call for help somehow. Instead, she chose to blindly run towards the threat- endangering herself and the others.

The soldier in him was furious that she had so carelessly ignored obvious strategy.

As angry as he had been with her, it would have been horrible of him to let Bucky hurt her- so when the latter dashed for her, Steve had no choice but to stop him. And even then, despite his best attempt, she got herself kidnapped.

It had been infuriating that Bucky had taken her, not because of the inconvenience of rescue but because it meant someone else was messing with his friend's mind. God only knew what was going on in Bucky's head but he didn't need some overly meddlesome woman poking around in it to confuse him even further.

That was why, when he had burst into the cabin on the mountain, he hadn't given two damns about the way the woman's wrist was angled a tad bit to left in a way that screamed broken. His gaze had immediately flown to Bucky's, searching for signs of trauma, of anger. All he saw was that same inquisitive stare, blank with a hint of disdain.

Maybe Steve could have talked to Bucky then, but that stupid girl had to go and make a big drama of her friend having hypothermia. As a man who'd slept in ice for 70 years, his levels of sympathy were fairly low.

Okay, maybe that was unfair- Steve hadn't exactly enjoyed watching the woman attempt to take off her clothes with one working hand, but a small part of him had felt like she deserved it- that maybe, her dumb heroism called for a little suffering.

And Bucky, still silent, still blank. So Steve had talked, hoping to stir something in his friend's mind. He talked of their childhood, running through the very streets he drove through. He remembered their favorite radio shows, the best songs to dance with girls to. He reminded Bucky of the time he had gone home with triplets, and came home the next morning looking like the cat who ate the canary.

It didn't work, of course. Steve knew it wouldn't work.

But he also knew the danger of giving up.

And maybe he was giving Bucky something to think about, talking about their past- but of course, Ms. Busybody had to interrupt him.

She had some big 21st century psychological breakthrough that was so obvious it made Steve want to hit something- but of course, it was the only thing to spur a reaction from Bucky.

She made some insipid point about his freedom to murder- a joke Steve found HIGHLY inappropriate and plain stupid- and then she did say one thing that made sense.

What was even more idiotic was the way Bucky reacted- though in retrospect, he was always more responsive to a nice looking dame than Steve's logic. And maybe a part of the old Bucky was showing when he made her a splint- crude but effective, like the ones he'd make Steve after a particularly nasty beating from a bully or even just a spill down some steps. It made Steve angry for reasons he couldn't understand, seeing those sticks wrapped around the scientist's wrist.

It pissed him off even more when she had the audacity hug Bucky- as though she had the right to invade his personal space.

Before Steve could yank her off of him, Bucky hugged her back- and that was when Steve realized he absolutely loathed that woman, if only for the reason that Bucky was listening to her, embracing her.

It hurt like a bitch- like losing his brother for a second time in his lifetime, a wound that just kept on reopening. He thought he and Buck would grow to be old, crotchety men whose kids would play together in their yards- yet here he stood, ignored by his best friend.

Bucky had held on too- and when he had let go, he said he might come back…

Steve wished he could believe the other smaller scientist's reassurance that Bucky had been talking to him.

But he knew she was lying.

He knew he'd probably never have the Bucky he'd known back.

He'd always known that, despite the denial.

Perhaps that made what Steve had done next even worse.

Stark sent a plane over to retrieve the lost travelers, and all through the flight, the girl nursed her broken wrist silently. She kept sending him silent entreaties, big eyes trying to get him to talk. Steve wouldn't budge. He kept his eyes out the window and away from the woman- puffing himself up with self-righteous anger and indignation.

By hour 6 of the flight, everyone was asleep. Steve finally pulled his gaze away from the window, and took a furtive glance at the girl across the aisle.

What he saw next shocked him-

She was crying, silent sobs wracking her body as she clutched her wrist to her breast. Steve wanted to ask her what was wrong- but she kept whispering to herself, "I'm so fucking stupid".

Unable to figure out what she was talking about, Steve shut his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

When he got back to Brooklyn, it was quickly clear that Avengers tower was NOT the place he wanted to stay. It was too ostentatious, too loud- and Stark took a lot of his patience. After Washington, and after Russia- he had very little of that to spare. Without SHIELD breathing down his back, Steve decided that it was time for him to make a place for himself, on his own. He rented his own apartment, worked missions that Stark scoped out for him with his intel, and drew.  
He drew and he drew and he drew, constantly reimagining the same image- though it never came out right.

That night, in fact, had been a failed mission- not difficult, just an attempt to retrieve some SHIELD supplies from a warehouse in Portland. But things went awry and as usual, things blew up, but for once people got hurt. The news showed up and without SHIELD to brush the truth under the rug, Steve had to run away. It was disconcerting to avoid taking responsibility for a covert mission which had failed-

He felt guilty. That was why he was on the bike, aimless and frustrated. Steve knew he was guilty of a lot of stuff over the past few weeks- but he felt the worst about the way he had blame the scientist for his massive failure in Russia. It wasn't her fault that he couldn't deprogram the Winter Soldier from Bucky's mind- just as much as it wasn't his fault.

He needed to accept that Bucky was probably going to remain a memory, and nothing more, because he knew that his friend was lost somewhere in the mind of that hurting soldier. It pained him more than Steve cared to admit, but the pain was worth moving on.

He still needed to apologize to that girl though- although he wasn't sure where to find her.

Pulling into a diner parking lot, Steve turned off his bike and straightened his leather jacket before going in.

He was going to have a huge slice of pie and some coffee, and then he was going to find the girl and explain himself.

As he waited for his order, he wracked his mind for what her name was. Though Steve's memory was fantastic due to the serum, it was possible for him to miss something when not paying attention. Even during their short, pleasant conversation in the car, Steve had half ignored the girl, on edge as he was.

Unable to remember it, Steve resolved to visit Stark the next day and ask his computer, JARVIS, to figure it out.

Darcy loved Friday mornings. She loved the anticipation that filled her from top to bottom- even as a little girl, Fridays had been a great source of joy. She would make her fancy, expensive coffee instead of the cheap stuff, and then she'd take a hot shower.

Friday was her day to look nice, so Darcy would curl her hair and wear contact lenses instead of her trusty glasses. Makeup wasn't really encouraged at SHIELD, but for Stark Industries R&D, the sky was the limit.

Darcy preferred a bold red or berry colored lip, and her signature cat-eye liner- simple, but striking, and her favorite way to make an impression.

Clothing was usually practical because of the nature of Jane's work, but since the latter was at a conference in New Hampshire, Darcy could wear whatever she wanted. All she had to do was be available at Jane's rarely used office for an appointment at 10 AM that morning- after that, the day was hers to enjoy.

That was why she wore her favorite work outfit- black pencil skirt, paired with a sapphire blue silk blouse and patent leather high heels.  
Feeling like a million bucks, Darcy strutted into Stark Tower, badge around her neck for once instead of stuffed at the bottom of her purse.

The magic of Friday further proved its existence by having donuts sitting outside Darcy's door, as a special delivery from one of the receptionists (Darcy had helped file her taxes).

Hot coffee in one hand and a glazed donut in the other, Darcy sat at Jane's desk checking emails and feeling powerful.

Her appointment wasn't due for 15 more minutes, so she allowed herself to relax. Even though she sometimes was afraid of explaining Jane's work incorrectly or giving someone the wrong answer, she felt confident.

Normally, Darcy was afraid to allow anyone to expect anything from her. Usually it had led to disappointing the ones she loved- and they would stop loving her after that.

Jane had tried to fix that, but Darcy knew the truth. She had her flaws and she accepted them with as much grace as she had in her.

Still, the knock at her door threw her off, as it was still 5 minutes to 10, and feeling unbalanced, she carefully sat straight in her seat and called out, "Come on in!"

Steve wasn't particularly good at apologies. He usually managed to avoid them, because he wouldn't fuck up too often, but when he did have to say he was sorry, it was heartfelt and messy and genuine.

This was not the case today, as he made his way down to Stark's science department. He'd never been on that floor before, and after getting slightly lost he found an office for a Dr. Foster. He was pretty sure that was the smaller scientist- his apology was to her assistant, whose name had turned out to be Darcy Lewis- an interesting name for a frustrating girl.

Steve was still pissed off when he walked into the office, and he realized belatedly that he had made a mistake, attempting an apology under the circumstances. It was way too late though, as Darcy was standing and holding out her hand for him to shake.

"Hello, Captain. It's a surprise to see you here, of all places."

Darcy's voice was as warm as it had been during their shared car ride, but her eyes seemed a tad icy. She stood ramrod straight in a way that didn't fit on her figure, which was very lush and curvaceous.

Steve stammered out a greeting and sat down, struggling to find a place to begin.

"I uh- I guess you wanna know why I'm here."

Darcy crossed her legs and primly put her hands in her lap. "I actually think I do know, Steve, and it's completely okay. You don't have to say anything."

Confusion flashed on Steve's face as he replied, "What do you mean? What's okay?"

Darcy's easy smile slipped a little as she tried to answer. "You aren't here to say thank you? Because if you aren't, I'm horribly embarrassed and maybe a little mad!"

"Why the hell would I thank you? You nearly got yourself and your friend killed!"

Her eyes sparked as she stood up, too angry to remain seated- although he was still almost her height sitting.

"I was TRYING to help you! And you definitely SHOULD thank me, considering it was ME who was able to connect with Bucky!"

Steve got up too, towering over Darcy who was still furious.

"You only managed to confuse him more! I bet you twisted his memories up even more- you don't even KNOW him!"

"That's bullshit and you know it- I would NEVER do such a thing. As a matter of fact, I talked about you! I talked about your friendship with Bucky, your childhood! It wasn't even that much information but he was listening! Just like he listened to you talk about your memories- not my fault you couldn't see it!"

Steve felt his conscience prick him at that, but he was too stubborn and angry to stop.

"You had no right! You had no right at all, he was MY friend and I have to take care of him, NOT YOU!"

Darcy's scowl transformed into a mirthful grin. "That's what this is about? You're jealous of me because Bucky kidnapped me for the sole purpose of interrogating me about YOU? Dumbass."

Steve wasn't above rising to her bait.  
"Why would I be jealous of YOU?"

"You can't fix everything! You can't fix someone as hurt as your friend, and if you loved him at all you would realize that RIGHT NOW, before you ruin the situation any further."

Steve grabbed Darcy's arm before he realized it, drawing her closer to him.

"I don't think you understand- you don't even know Bucky, or me, but you talked to him and it got through! But when I spoke it was like nothing! Poof! I was invisible to him. How am I supposed to feel about that?"

Darcy's eyes pointedly gazed at his hand, which was wrapped around a cast on her wrist.

"Oh! Sorry, I forgot about that."

"Yeah, you did. Bucky did that to me, when I told him that he didn't have to kill you anymore. He's programmed to kill, and maim. So he need to be deprogrammed and as far as I know, you're not an expert."

Steve backed away, leaning against the door.

Darcy sat down again, smoothing her skirt and taking a deep breath.

"Why did you come here anyways? To yell? I already feel awful about that night. I'm guilty as hell about abandoning Jane, and I know it was dumb to run after you two. I was just…"

"Trying to help?"

"Yeah."

"Well it didn't. I was fine, and everything was under control. I don't need overzealous fans like you to assist me with my job. And to answer your question, I came to apologize."

Darcy's eyebrows flew up to her hairline in surprise.

"What kind of god-awful apology was THAT? Jeez! You're even more messed up than I thought! If you're mad about all those things why would you ever apologize to me?!"

"I saw you crying, on the plane. I didn't want to be the reason you were crying like that."

Darcy, instead of softening at his words, turned stony.

In the most clipped tone of voice he had ever heard, Darcy began to speak.

"You… You are the most insensitive, self-obsessed basket case I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. Were you a dick to me on the way home? Absolutely. Was I upset? Sure. Was I devastated to the point of tears about your minor blip on my radar? Fuck no. You have no idea who I am, or what my background is- so how can you assume you understand me? I helped Bucky because of my own, personal reasoning. It had NOTHING to do with you."

Steve, realizing how royally he had fucked up, covered his face with his hands and groaned.

"I'm sorry, I went about this all wrong."

"Please leave. No offense, but I'd rather hang out with Vladmir Putin than you right now."

Confused by her quip and upset with himself, Steve let himself out of the office and silently made his way back to his bike in the garage.

Without knowing his final destination, he began to speed down the streets.

After 30 minutes of aimless drifting, he stopped in front of a gym near his apartment building. Grabbing his always packed gym bag from his bike's storage compartment, Steve made his way up the steps.

Before long, he was pounding his frustrations into a punching bag.

His fists hit the sand filled leather to a steady beat- "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Steve had never, ever been that horrible to someone before. It was uncharacteristic of him to allow his anger to control him, but he really was fucking pissed- and it was never Darcy he had been pissed at.

Throughout their argument, Steve had wanted to stop- to run off in shame, to thank Darcy for managing to give him a little bit of hope about Bucky.

The only person he was mad at was himself; for taking so long to realize Bucky was the Winter Soldier, for lacking the words to bring him back. Memories and stories would never be enough to trigger Bucky's memories.

He needed help.

Taking out his phone, Steve went to the locker room and dialed a number he had rarely used.

"I thought I told you to call if it was an emergency, bonehead."

The vaguely amused but mostly irritated tone of voice made Steve more optimistic than he had any right to be.

"I need a favor, Tasha."

Darcy's bath was too hot for her, but she slid into the steamy water. It was only 1 PM in the afternoon, but Captain Steve-Fuckin'-Rogers had effectively demolished any chances of her enjoying her Friday off.

Dinner plans with her cute neighbor? Canceled.

Movie afterwards? Hell no.

All Darcy could bring herself to do was schlep herself from the office to her apartment.

Her bath was unnecessary, considering her shower around 7 that morning, but hot water always soothed Darcy's troubles.

She was just so mad- and disappointed. Mad because of the obvious but the disappointment was almost disillusionment. Darcy had been kind of half in love with Captain America since she was 12 and had learned about him in American History- and then when he was defrosted, it was a miracle of huge proportions. She had always connected to Steve Rogers, and his supposed ideals.

To see that her idol was like most men- obtuse, and unwilling to let a woman help- shook her.

Darcy stayed in the water till it was cold, getting out only because she had to pee. It was almost 3 by then, and she was done with wallowing.

After chatting for a moment with Jane, Darcy put on some jeans and a sweater, and logged on to the SHIELD archives. After the fall of the organization, all its secret files were free to peruse on the internet, a la Wikileaks. She made her way to a section on the Cold War, the USSR, and most importantly, she found a few hits for the keyword Winter Soldier.

Armed with a sippy cup of wine and takeout Chinese food on its way, Darcy settled down for a night of reading.

His mind was on fire.

Or at least, that's how it felt when he tried too hard to make sense of the past few weeks.

He'd never been out for so long- never known life away from the handlers, from the box.

He'd never gone this much time without being wiped.

It was disconcerting, this freedom.

Going to Paris had been his first decision in decades.

It had been simple. He drove back to the city, made his way to the train station, bought a ticket, and he was there in a few hours' time.

It was strange, not having orders. It felt defiant, to do what he wanted- though it was difficult to know what he wanted.

With food, he used to rely on his handlers. If he was on a mission, he could weeks without eating properly. Now, he would stop at the smell of a good crepe or hot dog and buy one, if only to enjoy eating food for a reason other than bare survival.

Paris was also good for walking. He walked a lot, thinking.

The thinking caused him a lot of pain, because he would dwell on his time in the forest and the cabin- and the pain was close to unbearable, even for him.

If he shut his eyes, he would see the blond man, disappointment stark on his face. It upset him for reasons unknown to him.  
Even worse, though, was the face of that girl- the one with the brown hair and pink lips. She had guts, to talk with him and even hug him.

It felt good to hug her back- and the decision to hug her felt even better.

The blond man, though- thinking of him, even looking at him hurt.

So he figured it was easier to talk to the girl, to try and make the man understand through her that he would try to remember.

He was unsure if his ruse worked.

He hoped it did; he didn't wanna hurt the blond man any more than he already had.

That morning, he had woken up in a bed for the first time in years. It was a hostel, so there were other people in the bunk beds around him. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he got in the shower silently, washing quickly and changing clothes even faster.

_I wonder what I am meant to do today._

Each day had been regimented, before now- filled with orders and commands.

_Today, I want to see the river._

He remembered the river in Washington, where they both had fallen into the water. The Potomac was its name, he knew that, and he also remembered rescuing the blond man.

_His name is Steve._

_And I was Bucky. _

Stopping to buy a coffee and a croissant was the first part of his day, and it satisfied something inside of him beyond hunger.

Sitting on a bench, facing the Seine, he could remember the sensation of fighting with the blond man- Steve.

_He was better than me. I am faster but he is better, and stronger._

_I could never have killed him._

It reassured him to know that.

Finishing the croissant, he rose from the bench and picked up his backpack.

It was time to make good on a promise.

She had never really searched for him before- but Steve didn't need to know that. Yeah, the Winter Soldier had shot her in the stomach, but she didn't explain how it was all part of a strategy for a mission they were working together.

Together was a curious term. Was it an adjective, or a state of being?

The only times Natasha had been a part of something, a portion of someone's together, was when she was the Black Widow, or less recently, Natalia.

Telling the truth was another thing Natasha examined.

She had had to tell the truth when she had testified to the Senate.

She had to reveal who she was, what she had done.

But there was still so much to hide.

Everyone saw her as the spy, the assassin, the vixen with an agenda.

Too few people questioned how she had become all those things.

Bucky had been one of those people.

The Red Room was by no means a family environment, but Natasha had taken extra care to avoid forming ties to anyone.

Attachment meant pain and suffering for both parties if things went sour- and inevitably, they would.

James had never let Natasha's philosophy deter him from getting under her skin. Back then, back in the beginning, they were allowed to feel, to remember. Before Natasha had to get out, she was used to a degree of freedom. She did the job well, and she could do what she wanted within limits.

James was the same, but he enjoyed life a lot less cautiously than she did.

He coaxed her into bed that way, with a lazy smile and eyes that were warmer than any she'd ever seen.

It had felt good, and maybe for a minute she had relied on him to catch her.

Very quickly, Natasha was reminded that above all else, James was a master student of the Red Room- he had no qualms with shooting her in the stomach if it meant keeping his cover.

She forgave him, though.

But he was removed after that- his brutality was impressive to the handlers who turned out were none other than HYDRA.

They wanted James to do something else-

Something bigger.

Natasha got out soon after- it hurt too much, the guilt. She felt like Atlas, supporting the world on her shoulders.

And then in Washington, she thought she was fully removed from her old life.

To see the Winter Soldier active again…

It was a tough blow.

Steve's call the night before? That one stung even worse.

Natasha knew it was the right thing to do, though.

She had ways of finding people, of keeping contacts. And it didn't take very long to travel from her hotel in Prague to a hostel in Paris.

James needed her to catch him this time.

_6 weeks later._

Darcy had started jogging two days after her run in with Steve. It was good exercise, for one, but it also gave her a sense of control.

The whole ordeal with Bucky had made her take a look at her life- her choices up to that moment seemed silly and naïve.

Who was she kidding, working for Jane till 25?

Sick and tired of feeling inadequate, Darcy got a job as a public relations junior assistant (thanks to Jane's excellent recommendation letter) in Stark Industries' Clean Energy Department. It was a lot more challenging than writing down beeping numbers and grabbing coffee, but it made Darcy hate herself a lot less.

The pay was a lot better too, so she was able to afford a slightly less horrific apartment, though her commute still included the subway and a breathless jog in high heels.

She could manage it though- she, like millions of other people, had joined the legion of runners who rose early to go nowhere in particular.  
Darcy ran to forget.

Being in Puente Antigua with Jane at the time of Thor's arrival was a fluke- she was never a major player in that story, but that didn't mean that she had to apply that to all of her life.

It was easy, though, to fade in the back as the quirky assistant.

It meant that she had to do less, try less.

It was simpler to never try than it was to fail-

Or so she had thought.

The running also gave Darcy clarity.

Crying alone on the airplane back to the US hadn't been her own choice- the emotions had overwhelmed her.

Memories of her own had flooded back at the sight of Steve pleading for his best friend to remember him.

It was funny, how a brainwashed supersoldier could resemble a beloved sister lost in a haze of drugs and alcohol.

It was even more hilarious to see the roles life naturally assigned- Bucky was Lindsay, her baby sister gone bad. Steve was her, of course, although his attempts to bring his friend back were a lot more eloquent than hers.

She didn't think of Lindsay much if she could help it. Some things were better when they were forgotten. Running meant that she could forget in a different way.

It meant that she could go, on her own two feet, for 4 miles straight at a steady pace. It meant that she was on her own and still doing okay.

It helped.

Her jog that morning was nice. It was Sunday, so she could go home, shower, and go back to sleep if she wanted. If she felt productive, she could finish some work for the office, or do laundry.

If she felt like going out, she could drag Jane from her lab and to a restaurant or a movie.

The second she opened the door to her apartment, she knew there were no options.

The Black Widow was sitting on her sofa, flicking through her dogeared copy of "Frankenstein".

"Can I help you?"

The grace with which Natasha Romanoff unfolded herself from the couch made Darcy's jaw drop- she was one of _those _women- the perfect kind, who could do no wrong.

"Yes, you can. Nice place you have here."

"I get by. How'd you get in?"

Natasha laughed. "The lock on your door is something I could have picked in my sleep."

"Oh. Well, welcome, I suppose. What do you need from me?"

The spy's face grew somber.

"I have someone who wants to talk with you. Someone you've met, but you don't really know that well."

"Bucky Barnes?"

The Widow quirked an eyebrow, so Darcy irritably tacked on "I'm not an idiot. SHIELD thought so, but I really never was an airhead."

"I think there's always more to us than meets the eye. That probably explains why James wants to see you."

"Yeah… you know, things kind of got weird after last time. Is it safe? Will my bones be broken again?"

"No. I can't guarantee anything else, but do know that you're physically safe. James is in a place that is far more stable and positive than he's been in years."

"Did you do that?"

"Do what?"

Darcy crimsoned at having to say it aloud.

"Did you fix him?"

Natasha really laughed that time, a nice laugh that made Darcy feel less intimidated.

"I guess not. Steve was so worked up about fixing this and fixing that… I assumed he got you to help him."

"Yes, and no. I helped James because I know him. Steve did ask, but I was going to help him anyways. What I want to know is what Barnes wants with you. He barely knows himself, so knowing you is a bit of stretch."

Darcy wasn't offended.

"Do I need to take off work?"

"I already spoke with Stark. You have 5 days paid leave."

Darcy's jaw dropped.

"Damn! Okay, let me pack- unless you've already done that."

"No, I trust you enough to pack your own bag. But pack wisely. It's cold, where we are."

"Not Russia?!"

"No. Never Russia."

_Waiting is harder than it used to be._

He used to wait for hours for a target- in a tree, on a roof, rain, wind, or shine.

Today, he was sitting in a quiet apartment (he knew she had sealed it tight so he couldn't get out) with a roaring fire going. It was nice to be warm all the time, when he wanted to be. Sometimes in the "training", he'd be very, very hot- or the exact opposite. It made him tougher, they said. It made him more valuable a tool.

The woman he was staying with was Natalia, Natasha, _doll. _He'd known her many a year ago and she looked exactly the same and completely different.

She found him in France easily, and she convinced him to go with her to a quiet place.

At first, he had thought she was going to kill him.

Instead, she rescued him.

It started with medication- an antipsychotics pill to be exact, enough to piece together his frayed mind. She told him that a very smart friend of hers had developed it just for him, and he had to take it every day.

He ate it with his oatmeal in the morning, oatmeal she taught him to make. It was good with cinnamon or fruit, but he remembered that Bucky had liked his with maple syrup.

A lot of memories like that were creeping back into his mind, a slow trickle that was widening into a steady flow. He would grasp a hair brush and remember his mother's face as she did his sister Rebecca's hair-

And boom, in an instant, he could see his family.

Small stuff, compared to the big chunks he _couldn't _remember, however.

There were spaces in his mind that were blank, though he knew somehow that something was there. Somehow, the handlers had managed to drape a sheet over the memories, and he just couldn't reach up and yank it off.

Natalia- Natasha helped. She was a memory by herself, bringing back years of regrettable pick-up lines and painful training and worst of all, being murderers by trade.

It hurt, to remember. Natasha was good at helping him through the hurting, even if it meant that she had to pin him down and knock him out.

He remembered the war- the first one, the real one in Germany and France and England.  
He remembered his initial capture by Schmidt, the tests by Zola.

He remembered falling.

He even remembered _Steve's _face as he fell.

It was the last thing he thought of before he woke up in the operating room at HYDRA's secret facility.

So waiting was something he could do, relishing the feel of progress, however minute.

He had had some bad days, in the beginning. Sleep interrupted by nightmares, panic attacks, even flashbacks. Angry outbursts. Punched walls.

Natasha said he probably had PTSD, which made sense to him. She talked him through some things, gave him methods to cope. She was good at it, the way she was always good at everything.

To be at a calmer place, with an identity- James Buchanan Barnes- meant progress.

To be able to sleep was progress.

He could even think of Steve and not feel white hot rage- it was a stinging, sharp ache, as if he'd hit his funny bone. It didn't bowl him over with its magnitude the way it used to- he could cope.

Another face floated around in his head though- a dark haired girl, not as beautiful as Natalia but still arresting. She was the key to something, and he knew he needed to talk to her.

Natasha was making it happen- it was the final step before he would go and see _Steve. _

_Thinking it feels too real. Saying it would be unimaginable._

_Steve._

_Bucky. _

_Friends? Brothers?_

_Can we be that again, after all I've done?_

Of course, James didn't know.

When the door opened, Natasha came in first. She looked on edge and nervous, in her own way. Outwardly she was loose in stance and relaxed in posture, but Bucky knew her tells- the way she tapped her index finger into her palm on her right hand was something she used to do when she worried about a mission going wrong.

After her came a smaller, curvier woman-

_Darcy._

"Er- Hello!"

She was dressed warmly for the cold weather of Montana. It was an isolated ranch house in the middle of nowhere- perfect for Bucky and Tasha. Darcy wore a sweater on top of thick wool leggings that made Bucky remember something else- his ma complaining about the lack of stockings during the war. It made him smile, which made Darcy smile.

"Hi. I'm James, or Bucky. My friends used to call me Bucky."

_She didn't wince at the past tense._

"Well Bucky, I think we're friends. I'm Darcy Lewis. How do you do?  
Natasha's finger stopped tapping as she led them all to the kitchen table, which was set for dinner.  
"I'm okay. I'm better. Still blank as a chalkboard up there, but improving."

Darcy sent Natasha a look of suppressed surprise that made Bucky laugh.

It wasn't till both women stared at him before he realized that he hadn't laughed in decades- not freely.

Dinner was picked up from a friend chicken joint on the highway a few miles from the isolated town they were in, and the flight had been long and quiet. Darcy was very good at making conversation, and Bucky was an excellent listener.

"I tell you, there is absolutely NOTHING worse than having younger siblings who are more than 5 years younger than you! Lind-my baby sister could get away with anything! She snuck out one night at age 14 and mom didn't bat an eyelash! The one time I snuck out, at age 17 might I add, I was grounded for a month and I wasn't allowed to use my car! It's just laziness by that point."

Natasha looked much less tense by then. She joked too, and the ambiance was nice, if not slightly uncomfortable. After dinner, Darcy sat on the sofa, legs tucked underneath her and boots shucked off to the side.

She looked comfy, and Bucky could suddenly recall evenings spent listening to the radio on a rug, near a fire. This was a precious memory, he could tell- his eyes began to tear up and he could picture himself younger- and a smaller, runty looking blond kid.

_Steve._

Darcy didn't interrupt, so Natasha must have warned her. She instead waited for him to speak.

"I ah- I wanted to talk to you because I think… you can help me."

"Go on."

Natasha was standing in the doorway, wary but not making any sudden moves.

"I am making some progress. Natasha has helped a great deal, and my mind is becoming more Bucky and less soldier… but I'm not me yet. I don't talk the same, apparently. I'm on the fringe… I need to talk to Steve Rogers. You remember him, right?"

A strange look passed over Darcy's face but she didn't seem upset with him.

"I do. I remember him. Do you want me to… help you talk with him?"

"I'm not sure. All I know is that I wanted to see you, and I'm confused why."

Natasha came over and sat next to Bucky then, adding on,

"He's remembering in bits and pieces. It's difficult as you must realize. Bucky wanted you here for his reasons, but I wanted you here for mine."

Darcy's eyes narrowed and her feet came off the sofa. The ease disappeared from the air.

"I see. Explain, please."

"You see, I have obligations. Under SHIELD, I was able to delegate those obligations, but I'm operating independently now. There are some… remnants of the old SHIELD that are stirring up some muck in South Asia. I have to clean it up, along with Steve and a few other old friends."

Bucky could see a realization bloom on Darcy's face, but he didn't understand its meaning.

"I see. You need me to take your place?"

"You are brighter than most think."

"That's condescending, and yes I am. Is this why I have the week off?"

Natasha and Darcy continued like that for a few minutes, until Darcy seemed less angry and Natasha less closed off.

"I'll do it, but I'm no you. I have no super training- hell, I lack basic upper arm strength."  
"That's not a problem. You have a taser, right?"

"Yeah, but it's not the best deterrent in some cases."

"Metal conducts electricity, Darcy."

That, Bucky understood. It made sense- if he lost control, she'd need to be able to protect herself.

Natasha stood and stretched. "If I'm going to make it to the meet up point on time, I have to leave. Is everything okay?"

"Um, hold on! What about food, medication, transportation?!"

Bucky could answer that- "I have medicine I take, and there's plenty of food in the fridge and in the freezers in the garage. And if you look, a truck is parked in the driveway in the back."  
"Oh. Okay… I guess goodbye?"

Natasha patted Darcy on the shoulder, and gave Bucky a light hug.

"James, be good." She whispered something in Russian that was too familiar for Bucky to forget altogether, but the meaning escaped him.

In minutes, Tasha had left and Bucky was alone with Darcy.

_I hope I don't hurt her again._

_I won't. I promise I won't._


	4. The Dark Knight

Darcy wasn't sure how she felt about jogging in the great outdoors. While one could compare the madness of the streets of New York to a jungle, there was no comparing them to the reality of nature. Though the snow had melted temporarily, the air was still cold enough for her to see her breath, and the sky remained a gloomy gray. It was silent but for the rhythmic pounding of her sneakers against the grassy farmland.

Her first night there, alone with Bucky, had been interesting.

Natasha's absence was immediately noticeable to Darcy, as her comfort level dropped considerably.

Though Bucky had shown amazing progress in the few hours she'd been there, that was no justification for relaxing around him.

Mental illness was like any other illness- it required time, and patience, and the proper treatment and attention.

Darcy definitely wasn't a doctor of any kind- the idea of having to deal with Bucky's PTSD or something worse terrified her.

Her quiet horror was uninterrupted by Bucky, who sat in his chair with his back ramrod straight. His metal hand quietly flexed and unflexed, the only indication that he was troubled.

Quickly, Darcy improvised.

"Okay! I was thinking we should do something to pass the time, it's only 9 after all. Is there anything you like to do?"

_Great idea Darce, try to make him remember something on command. Idiot._

A cautious look came over Bucky's face as he struggled to come up with something.

"I- I'm not sure. You can choose, but not something too smart. I'm not very smart."

"What do you mean, you're not smart? You're plenty smart. Know how to play checkers?"

At Bucky's nod, Darcy rooted around the linen closet until she found a set.

He had cleared the coffee table by then, and they sat on throw pillows near the fire.

Darcy's acumen at checkers was pretty admirable, but Bucky was something else. His ability to make a game as simple as checkers difficult was astonishing.

"You are SO good at this! I told you! SMART!"

Bucky smiled slightly as he made his next move and captured two more of Darcy's pieces. She didn't care about losing- much. She was more pleased that she had managed to while away 45 minutes with a few rounds of a board game.

As they cleaned up, Bucky remained silent. He didn't seem to talk much, though he would smile and nod if Darcy said something to him. By the time they were done, the living room and kitchen were spotless.

Bucky led her to the room Natasha had said would be hers for the duration of her stay- it was small, but clean, and it smelled like fresh laundry and lavender air freshener.

Alone, Darcy quickly unpacked. She had brought a lot of stuff, not knowing what it was she would be asked to do. As a chronic overpacker, there were four different types of pants and almost ten shirts to accompany them- gone was the Darcy of one oversized sweater and rotating hat/scarf combinations.

Feeling the chill in the air, she picked her wooly pajamas with the cupcake print to change into. Wearing her fuzziest socks, Darcy brushed her teeth and removed her makeup in the bathroom down the hall.

Bucky was already in his room, so Darcy just called out a general "good night" to the house before she retired.  
Natasha had warned Darcy against using her laptop to access the internet, for fear of anyone tracking Bucky.

The desire to remain alive outweighed her desire to check tumblr, so Darcy made do with a book.

After a few botched attempts to read she gave up, plugging in her headphones to listen to her sleepy time playlist.

It was calming and usually worked like a charm, so Darcy was asleep before the second song started.

_Lindsey loved to dance. She'd play old school Destiny's Child or Spice Girls and really rock out, her body fluidly moving to the beat. Darcy had always loved to watch her dance, even as little kids. _

_By age 4, Darcy's overambitious parents had Lindsey in ballet classes 4 days a week, 2 hours a day. _

_It seemed too much to 9 year old Darcy even then-_

_And she was proven right, too many years later._

_But right then, Lindsey was Prom Queen and she was dancing in a silvery dress that made her blond hair sparkle. _

_Darcy was on the side, watching, gazing really._

_Her sister was so beautiful. _

_Lindsey's dancing got sloppier though, arms flopping and feet stumbling over each other- and she was usually so graceful._

_But right then she was singing loudly, off-key and words slurred. Darcy wanted to go to her, shake her out of it- tell her to show everyone how good she was at dancing._

_But Lindsey wouldn't open her eyes, kept them stubbornly shut as mascara spiked lashes welled with tears._

_Darcy knew what came after this._

_Lindsey fell, usually._

_It meant she'd found the perfect combination of pills and booze, that she had crossed the line and reached her goal._

_Turned out Lindsey didn't like dancing too much._

_It turned out that she really fucking hated it._

_At least, she screamed that while peeling off her own skin._

_And slashing her wrists right in front of a visiting Darcy, crying and sobbing about pointe-shoes and all the pressure in the world._

_She ran away after the hospital stay. _

_As soon as she was able she withdrew her meagre savings and hitchhiked away from the Lewis family, abandoning everything she'd ever known or loved._

_If she'd loved them, was a silent amendment Darcy would add._

_It turned out that Lindsey was selfish._

_19 year old Darcy learned it the hard way._

Bucky could hear something coming from the woman's room- Darcy's room. It wasn't the same as Natalia's which was good, because the smell of Natalia reminded him a violent time before he became the Winter Soldier.

The sounds grew more muffled but Bucky's hearing was super sensitive.

She was crying.

It made him sad- which made him glad because it meant he was reacting, but he was still sad for the girl.

She was nice to him, not wary like Natasha but in a more general way.

It didn't make sense, but when Darcy entered the farmhouse, a feeling of calm had washed over Bucky.

Something about her face made him feel less lost, although he was sure he hadn't met her before Russia.

Whatever it was, it helped him. She was warm and laughed a lot. Being an assassin meant he didn't get to hang around people like that and it was nice to listen to her.

Her crying was less loud by then, but he could hear the shuddering breaths that came from sobbing silently.

He wasn't sure if she needed his company, or even wanted it. It was hard to read those things- before, when he was still HYDRA's tool, he hadn't had to think about that emotional stuff.

It was usually "get in, eliminate the target, and get out."

And he usually did.

But the emotional stuff had surfaced when he'd seen Steve realize who he was- or rather, the man he had been.

After the Triskelion had fallen, Bucky went to the Smithsonian.

It was strange and painful to see memories that once belonged to him, glaring at him, daring him to forget them.

But he couldn't find them in his brain and it was frustrating, like hitting a brick wall endlessly.

Darcy didn't exactly fix the problem, but she was so gentle- she was a little brassy but her touch and tone were soft.

Slowly, Bucky drifted off to sleep- he had a hard time shutting off his mind most nights.

Before he was fully asleep, he realized who Darcy reminded him of-

Rebecca. His big sister, Rebecca, who liked red lipstick and got married to a sailor too young.

Rebecca- he'd ask Darcy to look her up tomorrow.

Darcy's sleep was fitful after her nightmare and its resulting crying jag.

This happened frequently- months or years would pass without her remembering Lindsey, and then it would all suddenly come to a head. The tears were inevitable then- the last time it had really happened was in Puente Antigua with Jane, right after the Destroyer had struck their town and Thor had left.

Something about the fear of dying and the adrenaline rush combined triggered a million memories- Lindsey coming home drunk the first time at 15, or Lindsey crashing the car because she was too high to drive straight.

Darcy didn't want to go down that particular lane of her mind, but it was no use. She missed her baby sister and hated her. It was 2 AM according to her cell phone, and there was nothing better to do than wallow.

It was easy to remember when Lindsey had been younger and always bothering Darcy, asking to tag along with her friends and play.

She'd loved to dance back then, despite the strain her parents put on her too young shoulders. Darcy could understand her mom and dad's zeal, but a part of her would always blame them for the spiraling downfall that was Lindsey's teenage.  
They just pushed her too hard.

It was as bad as the way they had never pushed Darcy at all, because she'd never shown any glaring talents.

Maybe she was still salty about that, but what made Darcy even saltier was remembering the way Lindsey had expected her to cover for her- to hide the weed, to show her how to cover up puncture marks with foundation. Hickeys appeared on her neck and shoulders that were too bright and red for a girl so young-

And Darcy enabled her, because she knew her parents wouldn't tolerate Lindsey's fucked up attitude.

That was why she'd pick her up from parties and clean her off at gas stations before dragging her home, knowing it was no use trying to sober her up before.

Once Darcy had picked Lindsey up from a party and she was already sitting on the curb, crying. It wasn't the usual happy, laughing, buzzed or high Lindsey Darcy was used to after a night on the town.

Then, in the light of dashboard, Darcy could see the burn marks, the cuts, the bruises- the way the top of her dress had been cut open- her tights torn.

And when Lindsey woke up to a horrified Darcy dabbing at the blood on her thighs in 7-11 bathroom, she slapped her sister and ran to the car.

It was obvious after that.

Lindsey hit a tree with her car.

Flunked four of her seven classes, junior year.

She stopped hiding her drug use from her family- once, Darcy saw her lighting up a spoonful of _something- _and that was when she told her parents everything.

And when her parents confronted her, Lindsey didn't even suppress her grin- she laughed instead, and dared them to stop her.

Rehab didn't help. Lindsey could stop using but it didn't prevent her from acting out. She had herpes, it turned out, as a result of indiscriminate fucking at parties.

Darcy didn't know what to do to help anymore- Lindsey never wanted to see her.

So she left her small town in Wisconsin and went to college in Virginia, earning a scholarship large enough to cover most of her tuition. Her parents, grateful for once for their average eldest daughter, paid her room and board, and Darcy was able to forget Lindsey at Culver.

Lindsey ran away from home by the time Darcy was halfway through freshman year.  
She didn't hear from her.

2 years passed, and Darcy was turning 20. Her friends had forced her to put on a party dress and her eye contacts, taking her to a nice restaurant and then dancing. It was wonderful, and carefree, and no baggage weighted Darcy down that night.

A week later, Lindsey was waiting outside of her Political Theory lecture. She was gaunt, and wan, and all the words meant to describe sickly thin.

She was still using- it was obvious, from the shaking hands to the marks her thin cotton shirt failed to conceal.

Darcy wanted to hate her- wanted to beat her up, call the police.

Instead, she skipped her Philosophy class and took Lindsey to a quiet diner, buying her a much-needed meal.

She didn't talk much, concentrating on her chicken fried steak like her life depended on it. Darcy was fine with that- she was too afraid she'd snap, and start screaming at her selfish little sister.

When they were done, Darcy paid and Lindsey looked at her like a lost puppy.

"Got a place to stay?"

Lindsey shook her head and Darcy sighed, driving them back to her dorm. They shared a bed that night, due to the lack of an available couch in the residential hall. It was almost like being sisters again.  
By the morning, Lindsey was gone, and so was Darcy's wallet, and her laptop, and her cellphone. Lindsey had kindly left her her driver's license and school ID- but the money, the credit cards were all gone.

When Lindsey showed up again, 6 months later and at least 20 pounds thinner, Darcy didn't even respond to her greetings.

A year passed. Darcy was 21, and her major wasn't working too well for her. It was Christmas by then, and she went home to her parents. After Lindsey had ran off, Darcy had kind of filled the place of both the Lewis children. The attention was nice, the gifts better.

Dinner time was special on Christmas Eve, as everyone was quiet and thoughtful of the missing daughter at the seat they no longer set a plate for.

As Alan Lewis carved the goose, the bell rang, and a chill ran down Darcy's spine.

She rose to answer the door, and there stood Lindsey.

Before Darcy could slam the door, her parents ran to the prodigal daughter, embracing her and exclaiming.

Christmas was about her that year. Lindsey was ravenous and ill dressed for the cold. She'd been "working" in Nevada as a waitress in a casino, according to her- Darcy knew better. Sometimes pictures of Lindsey would pop up on Facebook or twitter- she'd be wasted as hell or dancing or partially undressed.

It was all a lie.

And her parents believed Lindsey despite her history of lying.

So when they caught her rifling through the silver that night, their hearts were broken. Then, all of Lindsey's bags were emptied out- jewelry, vases, small electronics- she had stolen them all.

And there was no explanation Lindsey would give except, "She needed it."

They never asked what "it" was. They kicked her out for real that night.

But she called Darcy a fortnight later from a blocked number, begging her for help.  
Despite her misgivings, Darcy drove all the way to Madison, finding Lindsey outside a seedy looking bar with low-lives hanging around the front.

"I'm so sorry Darcy! I just… someone put something in my drink and I feel sick!"

So Darcy got them a motel room to sober her up and flush out the drugs, forcefeeding her salted iced coffee to make her vomit. It worked, but blood came up with the vomit too and Darcy could feel the walls closing in around her then.

She slept on the sofa that night, as Lindsey quietly snored.

When she hear the minibar fridge being opened, her eyes shot open.

"What do you think you're doing? Are you fucking kidding me Linds?"

A tiny bottle of Smirnoff was empty already and two cans of beer were popped open.

"Darce… I donno whatchu want me to dooo… I just wanna feel good! Don't you wanna feel good?"

Darcy gave in and smacked Lindsey, grabbing the beers and draining them in the bathroom sink. Lindsey screamed in rage, lunging after Darcy, who ducked. Lindsey managed to throw herself onto her big sister, so hard that Darcy smacked her head on the side table and blacked out.

When she came to, Lindsey was lying on the floor of the bathroom, wrists welling blood and tears streaming down her face.

The ambulance arrived just in time to staunch the flow of the blood and save Lindsey's life.

When the police questioned her, she said her sister Darcy tried to kill her.

They didn't believe her, and neither did their parents.

But it ruined things.

Darcy hadn't seen her parents since then, and didn't know where the fuck Lindsey was.

All she knew was that going to New Mexico had given her life a new direction, desperately needed and wanted by her.

Jogging helped her forget, like she'd said. Only that first day, she couldn't forget, so instead she pumped her legs faster and harder- each thump a memory she'd rather not possess.

Sam was a good counselor. He was a great listener, and had a lot of insight into the struggles of a veteran.

Steve was a horrible patient though- unofficial or not. He refused to discuss that which was troubling him the most- Bucky.

When they made it back to America, Stark's jet dropped them off to a private airfield outside NYC. Steve invited him to stay with him for a while, maybe help the Avengers Initiative take some shape in the aftermath of SHIELD's fall.

Sam didn't really have a choice but to say yes.

He was surprised though, during the car ride to Stark's Tower.

Steve who was never rude, only sassy, downright ignored Dr. Foster and her lovely assistant. He personally quite liked the girl- she had a fabulous attitude about the whole superhero thing, and she was also pretty damn hot.

But Cap ignored her, refusing to speak to her. Even Dr. Foster, absentminded as she seemed, sensed a tension in the man that was aimed at her assistant. Sam could see her get upset, see Ms. Lewis cover her face with her hands once or twice.

Steve didn't relent though, and it made the whole ride unbearable.

After that, it was a lot of change- new living space, new wings courtesy of Stark- a new job. Sam got a job as a counselor at a Veteran's Resource Center in Brooklyn, near Steve's building, though he never saw the man. No, Captain America was off saving the world, one halfbrained HYDRA offshoot after another. It was strange that he was never invited to join the fight, but he knew it was strictly Avengers business and he just hadn't gotten to that level of intimacy. Yet.

It was the two of them again a month later, over dinner, when he broached the subject- and Steve dropped his fork and literally began to shout.

"She endangered herself and all of us in the name of some stupid heroism- stupid civilian 21st century bullshit! I am SO tired of trying to save people who get themselves hurt just because they put themselves in the line of fire! I didn't want to save her- that NEVER happens, I never dislike a person to the extent that I want them to get hurt, but with her… I saw her go after Bucky! Talk to him like she could help him and that made me so upset- I'm never furious, but I'm still mad!"  
Sam could see where this was heading.

"Were you mad because she was able to help him?"

"No! Yes- I don't know! He was my friend! He was… my brother! We fought together and played and grew up together! His ma made me eat dinner with them every night after my Ma died- we were family…"

"Oh. Well I can see how you're the only one with a real claim on Bucky- but it's not Bucky we met in Russia."

Steve's scowl was the most irritable he'd ever seen it, as he barked "Who else would it be?"

"A weapon. A human mechanized by monsters. I read about it Steve… Bucky was hidden away in the mind of the Winter Soldier. He's lost his identity and he needed help finding it. That's probably why he found you."

Steve covered his face with hand and shrugged.

"If that's true, why'd he ignore me?"

"Well, imagine that Bucky has amnesia. Retrograde amnesia, and he can't remember anything at all, and it hurts you both to be around each other."

"Why would it hurt him?"

"Because he'd feel like he was failing you, by forgetting. And so to see you… and Bucky just starting to get an inkling that his whole existence was taken from him even worse than it was from you- don't you think seeing you would hurt? It'd sting like a bitch."

"I'd never want to hurt him."

"That's out of your control."

Steve and Sam moved from the kitchen table to the couch, sipping beers.

"What's really bothering you about that Lewis girl? It's not like you to get so bothered over someone making a dumb mistake."

"I just… I hated the idea of her messing with Bucky. When I first came back, this whole world was crazy to adapt to… and people aren't exactly sensitive anymore. I was just worried."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"That's it? You were horribly rude because you were worried?"

"No-o-ooo. I mean, I was also mad that she got herself kidnapped and injured."

"Really? I was impressed! She got out of kidnapping with a mere broken wrist, and she was able to get Barnes to talk, and she helped her friend with her hypothermia. I like her, she's got balls."

Steve rolled his eyes and Sam realizes fairly quickly what the problem was.

"She hugged Bucky."

Steve's face flashed annoyance and hurt all at once.

"She had no way of knowing he wouldn't kill her."

"You mean, you're insanely jealous that he hugged her back."

"Well… yeah."

"May I suggest something?"

"What else have you been doing stupid? Keep going."

"I think she's got a gentle enough touch to have gotten through to Barnes. You're a loaded gun aimed right at Bucky's brain, representing all this shit he just can't wrap his head around. Darcy- that was her name, right? Darcy doesn't mean anything significant to him, and she's friendly, and she is very approachable. Doesn't hurt that she's incredibly pretty either. If Bucky was going to choose between the nice approachable girl and the emotionally triggering brother he can't remember, who do you think he'd pick?"

Steve laughed and finished off his beer.

"I guess you're right. I was always easy to read, for Bucky. He'd tell me to pull my head out of my ass and get over it."

"Yeah. And you also should apologize to that girl."

"I already tried that."

"Why 'tried'?"

"I was a massive dick to her."

"Goddammit Rogers. First pretty girl to properly show potential and you piss her off?"

"I really was never interested in her, romantically."

"Bull. Shit."

Steve took Sam's words in and carefully considered them. After a day or so, he realized that his friend was right.

Pride was a bitter pill to swallow, but Steve was accustomed to fixing his mistakes so he was less inclined to fuck it up this time.

Finding Darcy was another matter altogether, however.

She wasn't in the Stark Industries building during her work hours, and HR wouldn't release her address yet. He had to get over his ego and ask Stark of all people, who only crowed for 5 minutes before giving Steve Darcy's building's address.

But the place was cleared out- no one other than Darcy lived in the place, apparently, and Darcy had been gone for over 2 days, according to the super.

It seemed more than a little fishy, so he decided to do some digging.

The second day with Bucky was a little less weird. Bucky actually came out of his room more that day, which was great. Day 1 was mostly Darcy just reading books and watching movies, waiting for _anything _to do.

Barnes was hiding from her, and who could blame him? She was a random assigned babysitter.

When he did come out for breakfast that day, he was already dressed.

Despite the scary memories of him as the Winter Soldier, Bucky was very handsome when clean shaven. He had a strong jaw and deep, gorgeous eyes and Darcy knew that the Lord was testing her through attractive men who could probably kill her.

Still, there pancakes to be eaten so any fear of murder dissipated over syrupy, buttery goodness.

Darcy even tried to make conversation.

"So what do you do in the mornings usually?"

Bucky kept chewing, pondering as he forked over two more pancakes.

Darcy didn't get a reply so she began to talk instead- it was a skill of hers she'd honed.

"I usually wake up, have a cup of green tea. Check my phone. Then, I go for my jog. I sometimes run for an hour if I get up early enough."

"I run."

The two words were uttered without emphasis, but there was enough subtext behind them for Darcy to wince.

"Wanna go run with me? I'm probably not as good as you or as fast, but I've always wanted a running partner."

Bucky didn't respond- he'd clammed up ever since Natasha had left, and it was difficult to get him to talk at all.

"That's okay. If you want to join me, I'll be out in the front in about ten minutes."

Darcy cleared the table and went back to her room, putting on her jogging clothes and a warm hoodie, along with her favorite warm knit cap. Her sneakers were neon pink and made her feel faster than she really was.

By the time Darcy was stretching in the front yard, Bucky hadn't showed up. Shrugging to herself, she put in her earbuds and turned on her running playlist.

When she was halfway down the road, a faint pounding began behind her. Darcy turned around to see Bucky, sprinting easily to catch up to her. His strides were long and confident, not anything like Darcy's short labored ones. Once he was in tandem with her, they jogged at a reasonable pace, Bucky slowing considerably to match Darcy.

They went for about a mile and a half before Darcy felt the real burn begin in her calves- she needed a break. Her face was dripping sweat despite the cold air, and it felt like her cheeks were burning. Darcy slowed and stopped, waving Bucky to go on.

He was dressed in a long sleeved shirt and sweats, an outfit he seemed to favor over any other. Without any additional exertion, Bucky surged forward, leaving Darcy in the dust.

They were back at the house in a half hour, after Darcy had lost sight of Bucky and she had had a tiny meltdown over potentially losing the already lost Soldier.

After their jog, Darcy went for a shower in her bathroom. Bucky was in the kitchen making a sandwich.

She was good at interpreting his silence. Sometimes, Bucky just didn't know what to say, because he just didn't know if he wanted to run or not. It was like her asking if he preferred waffles over pancakes; he didn't know the right answer.

Darcy didn't seem to mind though, and it reassured him that this inability to answer would pass.

Memories kept popping up, quietly and unannounced.

He remembered running to deliver papers with Steve Rogers- he still hasn't regained his memory of their friendship, but he can recall what built the relationship.

He also remembered some of the tests in Germany, done on him by Zola- that one came as he ran, and he was glad it was away from Darcy so she wouldn't see the look on his face.

She hadn't mentioned being upset so Bucky decided not to bring it up, though he wanted to know what had made her cry like that. He hadn't heard crying like that in years- he wasn't sure who had done the crying, but it had been a woman he'd loved, in his own way.

_Her hair had been red. It had been Natalia and she had just killed a child and it had made her weep- weep like a baby, and Yasha- that had been his name- held her as best as he could, trying to keep her quiet so the handlers wouldn't harm her. _

_But it wasn't enough- the tears dried up but the hurt had never left Natalia's eyes. _

_Even now, he could see glimmers of the 17 year old girl he'd left behind in the Red Room, lush and lovely and innocent, in a twisted kind of way._

Bucky realized his grip on his sandwich had split it in half, tomato oozing between his fingers.

Sighing, he picked at what was left of it in his bedroom. There were plenty of books and DVDs in there but none interested him.

He finished his lunch and put the plate back in the kitchen. As soon as he stepped back into the living room he felt a presence- they were not alone.

Slowly, Bucky backed into the kitchen, grabbing the knife he'd used to slice the tomatoes for his sandwich. Quietly, he scanned the area- it was clear.

Then a faint creak echoed and Bucky knew it was the door to the bathroom where Darcy was bathing. He ran as fast as he could but it was too late, Darcy was screaming.

"What the fuck?! AAAH!" Darcy was shrieking, tangled up in the shower curtain and half covered in shampoo suds.

A tall figure was rubbing his head and struggling to take the shower rod from Darcy's hands- she'd obviously brained him with it, and Bucky was glad that she was a fighter- but then he saw the blood on the visor of the invader's hat -before he could think, training kicked in.

Lunging for the man made sense- it put distance between himself and Darcy.

But then the man spoke- "Hey! HEY! I don't want to fight, I just wanted to talk! HEY!"

_Steve Rogers. _

_His friend. _

But he didn't feel like a friend right then.

"What are you doing here you CREEPY FUCK?"  
Darcy was still under the running water, shivering and furious all at once.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"  
"What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, answer Bucky."

Steve swiveled to look at Bucky, who hadn't left his defensive stance.

"I was trying to find _you, _Darcy! You fell off the face of the earth a few weeks after coming home from Russia and being kidnapped (Bucky didn't quite remember it going like that)! I can put two and two together, I just didn't know what happened- and after SHIELD fell I was worried."

Bucky realized how uncomfortable Darcy had to be, dripping wet and in the nude with nothing but a shower curtain, so he grabbed Steve with his metal arm and dragged him out of the bathroom.

"Hey! What the hell?"

"She needs privacy. Give her a minute."

"Oh."

"How did you find this place?"

Steve looked sheepish.  
"I asked Tony Stark's computer to find Darcy's laptop. It's SHIELD and they'd bugged it and Stark got access to those records… I'm not proud of what I did but I was trying to make it right by coming here."

Bucky understood.

"You thought I kidnapped her."

"Well… there is a history of that."

Steve sat on the sofa, uncomfortable and agitated. Bucky searched for anything he could say that would make him feel better- but he kept drawing up blanks. His regained memories had all but disappeared. All he could muster up was, "I remembered Rebecca."

Steve's head shot up and a hopeful grin spread across his face before he could help himself.

"Your sister?! Yeah, I heard she's got a whole slew of kids and grandkids down in Texas. She's doing well."

Bucky could feel… something.

_I want to see her. More than anything I want to see her. _

_Rebecca. She used to make me sandwiches and little pies out of leftover preserves and crust, and he'd split them with Steve on the stoop of their brownstone building and it had always been such a nice memory._

"Bucky? You okay?"  
Tears were dripping down his face, though he wasn't too sure why.

"I think so. Can I see Rebecca?"

"I'm sure you can. You're getting better, aren't you?"  
"I guess? I'm kind of tired of trying to remember. It's easier if I don't try."

Steve looked like he wanted to reply but Darcy entered the room, dressed in sweats and her hair in a towel.  
She didn't sit, instead choosing to stand near Bucky's chair and face Steve confrontationally.

"Why are you here?"

"I made a mistake. I wanted to find you and properly apologize… not like the first time but genuinely- and then when you were nowhere to be found and Stark Industries tells me you're off for an unknown number of paid days-"

"I got it, you put two and two together. How did you just presume that I needed saving?"

Steve shrugged. "I kind do that anyways, and I was worried about you. Plus Natasha was supposed to do me a favor and she never got back to me. I figured setting this up was her way of doing the favor."

Darcy sighed, sitting next to Steve.

"I can nominally forgive you if you'll tell me how you found me."

"Like I told Bucky, your laptop, which was SHIELD-"

"It was bugged?! Those fuckers!"

"Yeah. I guess you were a threat."

The anger that had burned inside Darcy's chest dissipated as quickly as it had arisen. For once, the world's most patriotic jerk hadn't been an ass-hat. He really was just doing his job, and it made sense that he wouldn't be able to wait to find Bucky.

"Wait! Does this mean our location is compromised?"

Bucky jumped in, properly alert for once. "There will be people looking for me- I was a weapon for them and some may still consider me active. You all are in danger."

Darcy glanced at Steve, who looked so stricken that even she could feel pity for him. It must really suck, getting your best friend back from way back when- yet really, he'd lost him even more than when he'd died.

"If I were you, I'd consider coming back with me."

"Uh- no. I have orders from Natasha to stay here until she's done in South America."

Bucky cut in.

"She's in New York."

Darcy was gobsmacked.

"What the fuck? Why would she lie?"

Steve laughed at that and even Bucky cracked a slight grin.  
"Oh okay, laugh all you want. But seriously, what's the point of her lying to me? I'm defenseless no matter where she's going!"

"Natasha comes and goes as she pleases. Sometimes she'll share her plans, other times she won't."

Darcy was desperate to get it off her chest-

"Oh please, Steve. I'm not trained for this! Bucky needs real help!"

"But you do help, Darcy."

"Bucky, I'm not professional. What if I make things worse?"  
"You listen when I need you to listen, and talk when I need you to talk. That's important enough."

Steve was wiping his eyes a little suspiciously and Darcy wondered how much it hurt him to know he couldn't help his friend.

"Okay, okay fine. But we're not going anywhere tonight. There's a storm brewin', Mr. Wayne."

Both Bucky and Steve predictably asked, "Who is Mr. Wayne?"

Darcy could scarcely contain her glee.

"First of all, there's definitely a snowstorm tonight, and I think Captain America should avoid a little snow if he can help it. And Mr. Wayne is Bruce Wayne, as in BATMAN! A comic book superhero!"

At the blanks gazes, Darcy squealed.

"Yes! We can do a marathon tonight! Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, may he rest in peace, and Tom Hardy! Talk about a treat- I hope you're okay with violence and fight sequences."

Steve chuckled at her jab and nodded.

"I'm down. I'm also not afraid of snow, Ms. Lewis. I'd prefer not to be overexposed, however, so I'll stay here tonight if you'll have me."

Bucky seemed puzzled at the possibility of having Steve with them, but he hid it well.

Darcy sensed he maybe needed to talk though, so she asked Bucky to help her cook dinner while allowing Steve to freshen up in the other guest room.

She had a bowl of ingredients balanced on her hip the way his ma used to hold his youngest brother while she cooked, and it felt right.

The kitchen smelled like Italian (Darcy said she was ¼ Sicilian) and the air was redolent with basil and oregano.

Bucky was mincing garlic for Darcy, who was carefully cooking down tomatoes for her homemade spaghetti sauce, which she claimed was "Norse god approved", whatever that meant. Her apron was one she'd found in the pantry, emblazoned with the words "KISS THE COOK", and it was already spattered with red stains. Chicken breasts and eggplants lay sliced and tenderized, ready to be dipped in the breadcrumb combination for parmigiana.

For a man who had lost his appetite decades ago, Bucky was really looking forward to eating that meal.  
Darcy kept him busy, having him chop vegetables for salad and bake crescent rolls in the oven.

It was easy, cooking in the kitchen. There was a rhythm to it, a cadence as familiar as walking. He felt like he was himself for a moment, if only by a fraction, and he treasured that feeling as much as he could.

By the time the table was set, Bucky was ravenous. Steve had joined them, offering to help. Darcy had refused, citing that he was a guest.

Despite her previously chilly demeanor, Bucky could see that she was trying to be nice to Steve. He took it as a cue to do the same, and so he nodded at the man and even tried smiling at something he said.

When dinner was served, Darcy quietly said grace- which was odd because she hadn't done that any other night. It was simple- just, "Dear Lord, bless this house, and this food, and the very hungry people eating it. Love, Darcy."

He wasn't complaining though. There was a plate of home cooked food before him, and it was a pleasant change from whatever his handlers did to feed him, or even worse- Natasha's cooking.

Steve was stupidly relieved.  
When he broke into the farmhouse, he was relieved that there weren't smears of blood on the walls or bullet holes through the doors.

When Bucky confronted him in the bathroom with Darcy, he was relieved that she'd had the sense to cover herself up with the curtain.

When Bucky told him that he could remember his older sister, he was relieved that maybe there was hope.

But most of all, when Darcy handed Steve a plate heaped with spaghetti and chicken parm and eggplant and salad- he was relieved at the warmth of her smile.

He'd felt like shit for hurting her feelings, more than once, and it was good to know that maybe she could forgive his idiocy.

He was also relieved that the food he was currently eating tasted like heaven.

"This is really good, Darcy. You could cook in restaurants."

Darcy laughed, booming and loud. "I cook like a pothead- only when very stoned or when I have the munchies. Chefs require this thing called consistency- I prefer spontaneity in the kitchen. But thanks! I'll tell my gramma- if I ever get a chance to call her again."

Steve glanced at Bucky, who was tucking into his plate even more ravenously than he was. There was a little sauce on his cheek, and it reminded him of a younger boy, who would always have jam or sauce staining his face.

Darcy looked nice too- her hair had dried in wild curls she'd tamed with a clip, and her face was clear of makeup. Steve was surprised at how clear her skin was- he'd grown accustomed to the magic power of makeup covering up flaws- not that he would ever judge a dame for wearing some coverup.

It was just nice- a reminder of simpler times.

After dinner, Darcy sent the boys in the kitchen to load the dishwasher while she set up the DVD.

Bucky reluctantly followed Steve, the latter at the sink washing while the former dried and set them in the racks of the washer gingerly.

A thought occurred to Steve, and it made him laugh.

Bucky sullenly eyed him, as if daring him to explain himself.

"Oh, it's nothing. I just remember… when your ma made us do the dishes, you'd always dry. You said washing was the hard work, which was why I had to do it."

Bucky's mouth quirked, and he shut his eyes as if trying to remember.

After a moment, he opened his eyes.

"Nope. Nothing. But I do remember the game we used to play when it was cold out."

Steve furrowed his brow, attempting to recall.

"Crack the whip? What game?"

"Piss in the snow."

Steve let out a real laugh at that, as images of the two of them with tiny pricks pissing on the frozen sidewalks of Brooklyn flashed through his head.

"We were real assholes, weren't we?"  
Bucky smiled as he loaded the last plate, not replying.

Silently, he grabbed the frozen chocolate silk pie from the freezer along with plates and cutlery.

Darcy's voice came from the living room; "HEY! Grandpas! The movie's gonna start and I ain't waiting for your arthritic knees to make it over here!"

Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve and they both sat on the sofa near Darcy, who was cuddled up on the ground with pillows and blankets.

Looking up at them, Darcy beamed.  
"I love this! I bet you guys are gonna love this- it's right up your alley." 


	5. Homeward Bound

_Blood._

_Wetwork._

_Bullets, knives, even bare hands-_

_They could all draw blood._

_And he used to be good at it._

_He __**was **__good at it, the best, and to be the best at the worst thing on earth was a heavy burden to bear._

_Bucky Barnes was the Winter Soldier, but the Winter Soldier was never Bucky Barnes._

Darcy fell asleep quickly after finishing T_he Dark Knight_- it was too late to hit _The Dark Knight Rises _and she knew the guys needed to sleep.

They had watched the first film rapt, enthralled in the story and the cinematic effects. She supposed that superheroes weren't as commonplace in the 1940s, and certainly not any as dark as Batman. It was interesting to say the least, watching the way each man viewed the film.

Steve was sprawled on the sofa, legs spread and arm around the cushions.

Bucky was on an armchair, back ramrod straight and legs pinned tightly together. He relaxed slightly throughout the film, but Darcy kept noticing him glancing at Steve.

By _The Dark Knight _even Bucky had loosened up, though he held a pillow before him like a shield. The symbolism didn't escape Darcy. When the Joker first appeared on the screen, Steve reacted with a steely jaw and angry brow- he was definitely against the mad man.

Bucky, on the other hand, was coiled up- his jaw twitched slightly and he was chewing his lips, metal hand tapping out erratic rhythms on the pillow it clasped.

It didn't trigger any alarms in her head at the time, but later as she brushed her teeth, she wondered- though not for long, as she basically fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

Steve had retired earlier, citing a need for rest, and Bucky retreated to his room as always.

Darcy awakened to the eerie sense that someone was watching her.

It was like a gaze that lingered too long- she could feel eyes on her skin, boring holes into her with their intensity. She carefully reached under her pillow and grabbed her glasses, sliding them onto her still concealed face. She also grasped her taser, loaded and on standby as Natasha had advised her.

A silent figure crept towards her bed, and Darcy could feel a hand brush her foot through the quilt. Darcy did her best to smother her shiver of fear, resorting to shutting her eyes as realistically as she could to imitate sleep.

As suddenly as the figure had appeared, it began to move back towards Darcy's door- she rolled over quietly and caught a glint of metal in the darkness- Bucky's arm.

Seriously concerned, she yanked a sweater over her tank top and pulled on her boots, as Bucky snuck down the stairs as surreptitiously as he could.

Darcy quickly ran down the hall to Steve's room, knocking twice and waiting a moment. At the lack of a reply, she carefully opened the door and called his name, just as she heard the front door creak open.

Hissing more loudly, Darcy walked to the bed and shook Steve's shoulder.

"Steve! Bucky's out!"

At her light touch, Steve's eyes flew open, alarmed yet alert.

Darcy waited as he yanked on his own boots over his pajama pants and pulled on a hoodie over his wife-beater.

Shield in hand, Steve questioned Darcy.

"Is he displaying any signs of violence?"

"None, he's been a lamb so far. He was just checking to see if I was up, for all I know. But he hasn't shown any signs of wanting to hurt me. You- not so much."

Steve looked hurt as he glanced at her and asked "Why do you say that?"

Darcy measured her words carefully, replying, "He acted very weird during the movies- like sitting near you was hurting him. I wasn't sure if it was something to worry about so I didn't mention it."

Steve and Darcy surveyed the yard, the former rejecting the latter's suggestion to split up. Secretly, Darcy was glad to have Steve by her side- as far as protection went, he was top-notch.

The snow that had been falling all evening had blanketed the farm in white. Darcy could feel the cold seeping through her clothes and eating at her body heat, but she refused to complain in front of the man who'd been frozen for 70 years.

Instead, she gathered her pride and said something more important.

"I never thanked you for saving me."

Steve's only response was to raise his eyebrow, never halting his scan of the yard before him.

"I know for you it was just a normal superhero thing… but I've been in tough spots before, what with working with Jane and knowing Thor. I've survived Loki's Destroyer and Dark Elves in London… But being kidnapped by the Winter Soldier- that really was something. It…"

"It frightened you to your very core?"

"Something like that."

Darcy didn't continue, as she grabbed Steve's arm and pointed before them.

Bucky was crouched in the snow, gazing off into the distance. He wore nothing but his pajamas and a t-shirt, feet bare.

Steve made to approach him, but Darcy gently shook her head.

Instead, she slowly strolled towards Bucky, making as much noise as possible crunching through the snow.

As Bucky's head swiveled to face her, Darcy swallowed a frightened gasp and managed a queasy smile of sorts.

"Hello, bud. What're you doing in the freezing cold?!"

Feeling more than ridiculous, Darcy squatted next to Bucky and grabbed a handful of snow. Her hands shook as she packed the ice into a compact snowball.

Steve followed behind, slowly. Bucky warily eyed him, and for a second Darcy thought she saw Bucky scowl before he rearranged his features back to their normal passive state.

Darcy tried a different tack.

"I thought I heard something in my room- was that you?"

Bucky's eyes flickered and he turned slightly away from her, whispering something.

"What? I can't hear you, my ears are kind of numb right now."

Softly, he repeated himself.

"I was checking on you. To see if you were crying tonight."

Darcy went still, trying to hide the frustration in her voice.

"You could hear me?"

"I can hear a lot of things, whether I want to or not."

Darcy huffed and finally stood, shaking from the frigid temperature, calling out behind her "I can't wait out here any longer. Bucky, you gonna come in or catch a cold?"

Steve finally spoke up, awkwardly grinning.

"It'll take a lot more than a little frostbite to hurt my pal Buck-"

He was cut off as Bucky lunged at him from his crouching position, pinning Steve to the ground by his throat.  
Darcy could see the metal arm flexing with strength as it squeezed the life from Steve, who was struggling to regain control.

Steve managed to gain some traction with his feet, kicking Bucky far enough for him to grab his dropped shield and defend himself. Bucky was silent, though his eyes were screaming with a rage like Darcy had never seen before.

The fighting was nothing like she'd seen either- Thor in action as one thing, but these were humans who were the best of their species, and they were leaving nothing behind. Bucky fought with a sharpness gained only from years of practice, hands and arms and legs moving in angular tandem to bring Steve down.

Steve was more fluid, his motions more natural looking, though he was doing a lot more blocking than he was hitting.  
Darcy wasn't sure what to do, afraid of drawing Bucky's attention to herself.

She was sure Steve could dominate the fight, but she could see his flagging commitment behind each punch and kick. He didn't want to hurt his friend any more than he had to- and Darcy could respect that.

So much so, that she charged her taser and carefully waited, aiming at a certain shining arm. A particularly nasty move on Bucky's part sent Steve flying into the snow, and Darcy took her shot.

It was never very climactic, taking someone down with a taser. It was almost always effective though. Bucky lay on the ground twitching slightly as Steve slowly returned. Bruises marred his good looks, painful looking even in the dark.

"Are you alright?"

Steve nodded impatiently and gestured at Bucky. He hoisted the man up onto his shoulder with more care than Darcy had thought possible, and they trudged back to the farmhouse.

Darcy tried to keep her teeth from chattering, but it was freezing out and her clothes were soaked from the snowfall. Steve gestured her closer to his side- it was astounding, how much warmth he emanated.

They went back inside to the blessed indoors, where Bucky was laid out on the sofa, and Darcy got to work warming up the room.

As soon as the fire was lit, she ran to grab blankets. Covering Bucky up, she rubbed his frozen feet to increase circulation. His skin was so cold it made her chill seem inconsequential. Steve just stared at his friend, slumped against the wall looking more defeated than Darcy could have imagined.

He couldn't stop watching him.

It was inexplicable- the amount of horror that filled him every time he fought Bucky- the Winter Soldier. The distinction was crucial- he would fight the Winter Soldier to the death if it meant getting his friend back.

But it wasn't working that way- all he'd done was aggravate Bucky, and provoke him.

Endangering Darcy was another weight on his shoulders, as he recalled the fear in her eyes- even as she took Bucky down, he could tell she was shaking with terror.  
She was tending to him by then, dabbing iodine on a cut he hadn't bothered to look at- he knew it'd be healed by morning.

Darcy had been silent up till then, but as she packed up her first aid kit, she spoke up.

"You make him feel guilty."  
Anger flared in Steve, hot in his stomach- he tamped down the reaction and forced himself to calmly ask what she meant.

"I just mean… you have all these memories and all the baggage of a lifelong friendship to associate with Bucky. All he has are a few half-baked flashbacks and the burgeoning mental breakdown that he is just shy of hitting. Do I think he wants to be friends with you? Sure. But is it gonna be simple? Fuck no."

She was quiet and logical, and for a minute she reminded him of Peggy so strongly that it hurt.

"I suppose you're right. But it's hard for me too- I just wanted to help. That's all I wanna do."

The look of sympathy Darcy sent him made his blood boil slightly- he wanted no pity, just solutions.

Darcy must have realized his ire as she raised an eyebrow and asked cheekily,

"I don't suppose Captain America drinks whiskey, does he?"

Despite himself, Steve smiled a little. Even though she pissed him off, Darcy was a kind person- and honest. He hadn't seen that in people for a while now, and it was reassuring.

"I can't get drunk, but I do enjoy the taste."  
Darcy went into the kitchen and shortly returned with two small tumblers of the amber liquid. They sat slightly away from Bucky, so as not to disturb him.

Darcy talked about herself, describing her work with Jane and her degree. Steve liked listening to her talk quietly, even though her voice was a little nasal from her stuffy nose.

They talked a long while, discussing SHIELD and the new Avengers Initiative. It was nice, and Steve even worked up the courage to ask what Bucky had meant when he said he was checking to see if Darcy was crying. He could tell from the way her back stiffened and her brow furrowed at his words- she was extremely defensive about whatever it was.

He waited for her to reply. She took a deep breath to calm herself down. Once she relaxed, she tucked her feet under her like a kid in her armchair and frowned.

"I had a sister. She and I… we were close. She was 5 years younger than me, but we were still best friends. My sister was an amazing dancer, talented- way more than I ever could have been. She was supposed to dance for the New York City Ballet, and for a small town Wisconsin girl that was a big deal. But she was young, and unprepared for the stress and responsibility of… I'm not sure?"

Steve helpfully suggested "Expectations, maybe," and Darcy nodded in assent.

"Yeah, that could be it. She wasn't good with people wanting things from her. It's different I suppose. I grew up with my parents having zero expectations- any accomplishment was something, but never good enough. Lindsey- my sister- she reacted differently from me. I worked hard, got okay grades, and got a partial ride to Culver. Lindsey… she was doing drugs, all kinds. She was an addict, and she pursued addiction relentlessly. I enabled her, now that I look back. I could've told mom and dad, or called 911 to report her. She could have been stopped before it was too late."

Steve gently placed his hand over Darcy's as she sniffled.

"Y'know… now I really feel like an ass for my past behavior. I understand why you wanted to help Bucky. I get it."

Darcy glanced up and pursed her lips.

"Do you? I spent the best years of my college life trying to help Lindsey, giving her money and places to sleep and even clothes off my back. She, in return, has stolen from me, injured me, mocked me. She ran away from home a long time ago, and I haven't seen her in years. I can't help her- that's what I learned. One day I'll get a call saying she overdosed in a bar bathroom and that'll be it. A waste of life, and Lindsey did it to herself. Bucky didn't. Bucky did nothing wrong, and that's why I want to help him."

Steve had nothing to say to that, so he downed the rest of his drink and stood to check on Bucky. Darcy stretched, feeling the tiredness from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Bucky was asleep, and Steve was relieved to see some of the strain had left his friend's face.

Darcy came to stand next to him, patting him on the shoulder tiredly before announcing that she couldn't stay awake one minute longer.

Steve wanted to go to bed too, but a niggling worry persisted.

"If you want to go to bed that's fine. I'll stay here, don't wanna leave Buck alone."

Darcy scowled in a way that really was reminiscent of Bucky back in the good old days, and stomped over to the linen closet.

"There's no way I'm leaving you alone with Bad Grandpa down here. I don't wanna wake up to screams and flames, so I'll stay too."

Steve nodded, grateful that she understood, albeit not very gracefully.

"Thanks Darcy. And again, I am sorry about before."

Shrugging, Darcy curled into an armchair, wrapping herself as tightly as possible in her blanket.

It was warm when he woke up.

For years, he'd been cold- no, numb to feeling anything. Warmth was an alien sensation he'd come to cherish in these past few weeks of liberty.

The cold of the snow was a fresh memory in his mind, the feel of fresh snow and ice powdery between his fingers.  
He felt comfortably toasty, as he slowly sat up, though his head ached and his mouth tasted of metal.

Slowly, he remembered the night before- wincing, he glances around the room.

Darcy caught his eye first, curled up next to Steve on the loveseat. Her head drooped on his shoulder, and Steve's arms were crossed over his chest even in sleep.

He felt a flash of remorse as images of the fight with Steve became clearer- he'd had a moment of weakness, and let the programming kick back in. It was strange, knowing there was a part of him that wanted to kill Steve Rogers.  
The other part was trying _so _hard to come close to what they used to have- it was just taking time.

And the anger- he remembered the anger. It was a new emotion, since the Winter Soldier never felt anger or frustration. He could remember the sensation of fury pounding between his ears like a hammer on an anvil- it hurt to stay still, so he _had _to act.

Missions were never a matter of fail or succeed- he always succeeded. That was why he had to get out of the house- he'd woken up drenched in sweat and grinding his teeth, metal hand fisted in the sheets.

He hadn't known what to do next.

Bucky sat up, rubbing his face.

He wasn't surprised to feel his mouth was a little tender, or to find some bruising along his temple.

He was surprised, however, when he saw little butterfly band-aids on a cut on his forearm, as well as his cheekbone.

Obviously someone had taken care of his injuries. Normally after a mission he'd be repaired, then placed back in the cryochamber like a hunk of meat to be frozen. It was different, this way.

Soft wool socks covered his feet, socks he never remembered putting on.

Carefully, he swung his feet to the ground, shaky from the relapse. He felt sore and upset- two feelings the Winter Soldier had been programmed to ignore.

Slowly he limped to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge. The condensation on the glass soothed his heated skin, and a part of him wished he could go swimming- though he couldn't remember ever having gone before in his life.

He walked back to the living room, where Darcy and Steve remained sound asleep.

Normally, Steve's earnest attempts to connect with him set Bucky on edge- but in sleep he was more familiar. He seemed smaller somehow, his stature less defined and tall.

He could vaguely remember a Steve before the serum- the trip to the Smithsonian had been very informative- but the reality didn't seem to fit the broad shouldered specimen before him. It was very strange, and hard to accept.

Darcy was an even more strange phenomena, because he didn't understand why he liked her so much. Something about the way she talked to him made his anxiety ease, and the way she didn't expect him to remember- he cherished that about her.

Carefully, he picked up Darcy's fallen glasses from the ground and placed them on the coffee table. Gingerly he climbed the stairs, and made his way to the shower-

He felt dirty.

Darcy woke up waaaaaay overheated.

Normally she ran cold, and in a snowstorm she was usually freezing. Somehow though, she was sweaty and uncomfortable with the warmth enveloping her. Opening her sleep-crusted eyes, she peeked around to figure out where she was.

She suddenly became aware of the arm wrapped firmly around her torso, one hand cupping her shoulder loosely.

Said arm was tanned, strong, and attached to Captain America- it was a bit of a Hallmark moment for Darcy, who wished she could capture the image for her olden days.

As gracefully as she could, Darcy disentangled herself from Steve's hold.

She panicked slightly when she realized that Bucky was nowhere to be seen, but then she heard the shower running and she knew he had to be bathing.

Relief washed over her, and she wondered briefly as to when she'd come to care so much for the strange man upstairs.

Shrugging for the millionth time, Darcy made a beeline for the fridge. She gathered eggs, milk, flour, shortening, sugar, cinnamon- it was definitely a day for her famous cinnamon bun cake with homemade frosting. Normally she reserved it for special occasions and Christmas, but she figured surviving a mild Winter Soldier attack counted as a celebration.

Darcy set the oven to warm, and then, before beginning her baking, ran upstairs to grab her charged iPod from its deck.

Any good baker worth their salt listened to good music as they worked their magic in the kitchen.

It smelled like Christmas.

Steve's nose was very good at picking up scents (not unlike a dog) and he remembered what Christmas smelled like.

The house was filled with fragrant cinnamon and clove, and he wondered if he was dreaming.

Then he saw the abandoned blanket next to him as well as the dripping boots near the door- and the night's events returned to his mind. A slight sting near his lip reminded him that Bucky was still a ruthless assassin- or rather, he still possessed the skills of one.  
He would have to ask Natasha what she'd done to get Bucky to start deprogramming- if she ever returned his calls.

Steve wearily rose, heading towards the kitchen.

The room was the source of the magic smells, and Darcy was the origin. She was plugged in to her music, shaking her hips to a silent beat as she used a mixer to blend ingredients.

Something was baking in the oven, and bacon was slowly sizzling in a pan on the stove.

Unwilling to interrupt Darcy for fear of embarrassing her, Steve went upstairs to change his clothes and brush his teeth. He felt like he'd gargled alcohol and blood.

The shower was still running, so Steve went back down to ask Darcy if there was another bathroom in the house.

"Yeah! My room! Second room on left!"

Darcy was shouting over the sound of her music in her ears- she was too occupied in making frosting for her cake to take them out.

Steve carefully opened her door, feeling like he was invading her personal space.

It was small and neat like the rest of the house, but the room gave Steve a few hints about the kind of person Darcy was.

For one, she wasn't particular about neatness- her bed was unmade, though she had abandoned it last night to find Bucky. Clothes were scattered around her suitcase and the floor, shoes kicked half under the bed. In the bathroom, bottles and containers littered the old-fashioned porcelain sink.

Steve quickly stripped and stepped under the shower, scrubbing away the sweat and grime that always appeared after combat. Fighting Bucky was the _hard- _because he didn't want to hurt him, he would never exert his full abilities in the fight- and that meant he'd take a lot more hits and he'd have to fight his very nature just to block and defend.

Groping around, Steve grabbed a bottle of shampoo from the bathtub's side- it was something called "Big and Sexy: Brunette Bombshell"- obviously it belonged to Darcy, but she probably wouldn't notice if he used her soap.

As soon as he squeezed a dollop of shampoo onto his hand, Steve recognized the scent as Darcy's- he had a good memory and sometimes he'd recall details only after seeing or experiencing things related to them.

The smell of Darcy's hair was apparently one of those details- fruity and sweet, like peaches. It was oddly intimate, and it made Steve change the temperature of the water for 30 seconds before switching of the shower altogether.

He realized rather belatedly that he hadn't grabbed a towel, so he also borrowed the towel hanging next to the shower. Wrapping it securely around his waist, Steve swiftly went to his room. Bucky had vacated the other bathroom by then.

As he changed, Steve took a moment to glance at his phone- it was still a task he was unaccustomed to, constantly maintaining contact with his colleagues via technology. It was useful so he didn't complain, but it felt a lot like a burden.

He had three missed calls- one from Sam, who wanted to know where the hell his patriotic ass had gone off to- he'd missed his first official VA meeting.

The second was Stark, checking in on him and updating him on progress made on the Avengers Tower.

Last was Natasha- from the quiet, emotionless tone to her voice, he knew that where she was wasn't secure, and neither was the line she was using.

"Rogers. It's me. I need you to do me a favor. We need to move the damaged painting back to the museum in the big city. It's imperative. I know someone who does art repair, very skilled. See you in a day."

The code was simplistic for Natasha, which was concerning. He saw that the message had been left around early morning that day, so they would have to leave that afternoon to make it back to New York safely and on time.

It smelled good downstairs. Bucky didn't usually care what he had to eat, but it was nice when his meal smelled good.

Darcy had obviously been cooking again, as something under a cover sat on the table in the place of honor in the center.

"Hey buddy! Did you have a nice shower?"

Bucky dipped his head, sitting at the table. "I- I'm sorry about last night. I don't know what came over me."

Darcy carried over a platter of bacon and a cup of coffee, placing the latter near Bucky's hands.

"You don't have to apologize. I realize how incredibly crazy- I mean difficult, this is, and you have my total respect dude. I will never require an apology- well, I will if you don't like what I made for breakfast today, but that's not possible."

Bucky grabbed the coffee and took a long gulp of it, despite the burn of it down his throat.

She was too kind, too trusting. It'd get her killed.

"I… I really appreciate that. Thanks. And I was thinking, while I was showering…"

Darcy waggled her brows lasciviously and leaned closer.  
"Oooh, I'd love to know what you think of in the shower!"

Bucky rolled his eyes (the gesture felt completely familiar but that wasn't important).

"I think I want you to call me James. I was Bucky for my entire life before falling, and then I was someone's weapon- a gun they'd lock and load and then store in a safe. Bucky is who I used to be- and I don't remember who that was, and somehow people expect a lotta things from me when I'm Bucky. Maybe if I go by James, it'll make it easier- less for me to have to worry about, don't ya think?"

Darcy thoughtfully nodded, and replied "I think that's a very smart, self-aware choice. James is a much cooler name to go by than Bucky, by the way. And this is also our longest conversation to date. I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

Unsure of what else to say, _James_ smiled and snagged a piece of bacon from the plate.

Steve walked in just as Darcy smacked James' hand away from her bacon. Immediately, James' shoulders hunched slightly- Darcy's eyes narrowed as she noted his altered behavior, but grinned at Steve.

"Good morning Cap! My friend James and I were just now talking about how nice people don't steal bacon!"

"James, huh? You used to hate being called James."

Darcy shot a dirty look at Steve, sending a bolt of warmth to James- the woman was crazy, but she was extremely loyal to him for whatever reason. It was a pleasant feeling.

"Used to. Now I wanna go by James."

"Ah, well whatever makes you happy. Darcy, something smells fantastic."

Awkward moment averted, Darcy removed the lid from her secret dish with a flourish.

"I present to you- The Lewis Family's World Famous Cinnamon Bun Cake!"

James' mouth was actually watering at the sight before him- the cake was moist looking and drizzled in frosting.

Steve looked similarly intrigued, as Darcy carved large slices of cake for the men.

Without a word, James tucked into his cake- the flavors of cinnamon and clove perfectly complimenting the sweetness of the sugar frosting.

_I had a sweet tooth. I remember, I had a sweet tooth._

That memory and the other from earlier were small victories for James- he was regaining pieces of himself one at a time, on his own terms.

"James, are you listening?"

Steve broke his reverie, and he shook his head.

"I was saying, I got a call from Natasha. We need to go back to New York."

_Oh._

Darcy sensed James' worry and hurried added, "It's because she's found someone who can help you. She was able to help with the initial steps of deprogramming but we have to complete the process- and New York's a lot safer for you than the middle of nowhere, surprisingly."

Quirking an eyebrow, James cut her off.

"How's New York safer? The place is filled with nutjobs and whackos. My handlers never used to send me out on jobs there-"

_Oh. I remember now._

Steve and Darcy just stared at him, causing James to irritably snap, "What are you looking at?"

"It's… you sounded so like your old self. And you remembered."

"Well, I do that from time to time. Not often, mind you."

Darcy laughed, and her snorting guffaw made James' bad mood fade away.

They finished breakfast, and immediately got to packing. Darcy was ready to go last, despite her best efforts. She did make them wait long enough for her to fill a cooler with snacks- all her leftovers, and chips, and fruit, and whatever else she could grab from the pantry.

"Are you planning on feeding an army while we're driving Darcy? It's a 32 hour drive, we ain't climbing the Rockies."

Darcy sent Steve an arch look as she tried to fit another bunch of bananas into the cooler.

"You and your buddy James have monstrous appetites. I'm just trying to minimize the inevitable trips to gas station mini-marts and diners- you gotta stay incognito, ya know?"  
"Well that actually makes a lot of sense. Sorry…"

Darcy laughed and shook her head.  
"No biggie. Just carry this out to the car."

Steve had brought an SUV on the drive out to Montana, but it was one of Stark's so it was souped up and had all kinds of settings not found in normal cars.

James was waiting outside, scuffing his boots while staring at the horizon. It was a clear day and the snow was melting.  
_New York City._

It used to be his home, his and Steve's.

He used to walk its streets, sell newspapers on the corner and shine shoes on curbs near barbershops- that was something that he'd remembered early on with Natasha, though it hadn't made much impact on him at the time.

Now, though…

Now the thought of returning was scaring him shitless.

Darcy and Steve finally left the house around 10 AM, locking the doors behind them. Suitcases and bags safely stored in the trunk, they departed.

Steve drove the first 4 hours, Darcy sitting next to him. The interstate was quiet and clear, it being mid-morning on a Tuesday.

James stared out the window blankly, thinking of nothing in particular. The white noise of air rushing past the moving car was soothing, and for once, he found himself relaxing. Darcy was humming quietly to herself, and Steve was tapping his thumb on the steering wheel.

Leaning back, he shut his eyes.

He hadn't slept that night, and something told him he'd need his rest once he made it to New York.

Darcy was surprised at how fast Steve drove- something about his personality screamed "SAFE DRIVER", which he still managed, but at much higher speeds than she'd expected. They had to be going 90 miles an hour when the speed limit was definitely 75, not that Darcy gave a damn.

She was glad they were making good time, eager as she was to return home. Her job was on hold, and she also wanted James to see whoever Natasha had arranged to deprogram him fully.

Darcy was surprised by her exchange with James that morning- despite her initial fear around him, she was really starting to like him. Her pity had faded away and was replaced with respect, a rare occurrence for Darcy Lewis.

Something about him tugged at her heartstrings- maybe the look he got in his eyes when he saw Steve was the root, or maybe the way he'd eat the food she'd cooked like it was a five star meal.  
Either way, she was glad he'd kidnapped her all those weeks ago.

Steve was less annoying too- she understood the difficulty of his position, and even empathized with him.

They didn't talk the first portion of the drive, Darcy choosing to catch up on the news by listening to NPR.

Around 2 PM, she heard a frighteningly loud gurgle emanating from the driver's seat.

Steve winced, and Darcy accusingly cried "You're starving, aren't you?!"

He shrugged sheepishly, so Darcy forced him to pull over.

"You and Barnes both need to eat. You have those fancy accelerated metabolisms, right?"

"Yeah. I wasn't gonna complain, I've gone much longer without eating, you know."

"Yeah, like that's gonna work on me. This ain't World War II buddy, you gotta eat when you're hungry."

Wordlessly, Steve accepted the three ham and cheese sandwiches she'd packed for him, plus a juice box and a bag of chips. James was sleeping very soundly in the back seat, so Darcy grabbed a few snacks for him, and then repacked the cooler in the trunk.

Steve finished his food quickly, and made to get back in the driver's seat.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He stopped short, keys dangling from his hand.

"I'm getting back in the car?"

"No, you're not. Roadtrip etiquette states that drivers switch after breaks! You need to be sharp for nighttime driving, dude- I'm blind as a bat in the dark and will be of no use to you then."

Steve laughed, and tossed Darcy the keys. She was glad he hadn't put up a fight- it would have been kind of sad to find out that Captain America was a little misogynistic.

Clambering into the driver's seat, Darcy adjusted the settings.

It took a while, considering the difference in her height with the previous driver.

They were on the road before long though, and Darcy immediately plugged her phone into the car to play her driving music.

The first song to play on shuffle was an old favorite- _Fat Bottomed Girls_, by Queen. The thumping beat and fun guitar riffs kept Darcy energized on any drive. Steve's face was amused at first, but even he began to nod his head to the beat.

James snored quietly in the back, drifting in a dreamless sleep. Everything was peaceful for the first time in weeks, and Darcy loved it.

After hour 2, though, she wanted to kill herself. She had forgotten how damn boring driving could be if she wasn't with incredibly close friends. If she had Jane with her, they'd be singing and laughing. With Steve, though, she had to watch what she said.

Desperate times meant she resorted to asking Steve "questions".

"What's your favorite TV show?"  
"…Iron Chef America. When I get time to watch TV, that is."

"Best book you ever read?"

"The Old Man and the Sea. Hemingway."

"Nice. Favorite flavor ice cream?"

"Uh… Birthday cake. Although before, it was just plain old vanilla."

"I bet you liked it with Apple pie, right?"

Steve considered it a second too long, and Darcy was aghast.

"You've never had Apple Pie A La Mode?!"

Steve shook his head and Darcy dramatically tutted.

"You have to hand over your shield buddy, you're basically not an American until you have some pie with ice cream on top."

"Oh, really? I better get on that ASAP. Let me check my schedule."

Darcy giggled. "You're pretty snarky for an American Treasure. I like it."

To Darcy, Steve's answering blush was just as sweet as a piece of apple pie, with vanilla ice cream right on top.


	6. Benediction

Driving two super-enhanced men across a few of the nifty-fifty-states of the USA was not the weirdest thing Darcy had dealt with in her short life. She'd defrosted frozen breast milk over a Bunsen burner once- she'd tased a god- she'd gotten drunk at a frat party and woke up in her morning lecture the next day. Still, it was weird watching the two cohabitate in close proximity.

Around 4 PM that afternoon, Steve's eyes had begun to droop. Though he'd put up a token protest, Darcy sent him to the back seat, by which time James had finally woken up and was gazing out the window at the passing farmland.

The playlist had reached its most shameful section- the one with trashy pop and stupid radio hits. Darcy normally sang along with great gusto, but she somehow felt James' metal arm would strangle her of its own accord if she tried.

Before long, Steve was quietly snoring. James was tapping his cybernetic fingers against the armrest, each tap sending a spike of annoyance through Darcy.

Desperate to stop him, she asked him to come sit next to her.

"I need a better navigator than this shitty Stark Industries GPS. The fact that it's programmed with Tony's voice makes me a little nauseous."

Wordlessly, James shifted to the front seat without even disturbing Steve- his muscles bunched interestingly through his thermal tee-shirt, and Darcy had to remind herself who she was ogling.

Once James was seat belted, Darcy turned off the music and handed him a map. She did have a pretty good idea as to where they were going, so the map was a ruse.

Careful to keep her tone light, Darcy glanced at James and mentioned, "I did some research last night- about your sister."

The tapping ceased instantly.

"Turns out she's still alive- pushing 98, with 4 kids of her own, 6 grandkids, and even a couple of great-grandkids."

James suddenly turned to face the window, silent but for the steady sound of his breathing. Darcy remained silent, instead turning on the cruise control option on the SUV.

Keeping one eye on the road and the other on the passenger seat, she pulled up her phone and searched for a few seconds for a bookmarked page.

"I found a few pictures, if you wanna see."

James slowly clenched his flesh and blood hand into a fist, unfurling each finger slowly. Finally glancing at Darcy, he nodded tightly, as if he was barely keeping himself together.

The first picture was of a younger Rebecca- maybe aged 36, with three pretty young daughters and a handsome husband. They stood before a white picket fence, each parent with a baby in arm.  
James made a sighing sound, and then he shut his eyes tightly.

"I- I remember."

"What do you remember, James?"

He shook his head and Darcy waited, worried that she'd been wrong to bring up fresh memories while he was traveling in a small vehicle.

Thankfully, he recovered from the episode quickly. Tears had pooled in his eyes but had yet to fall, so he wiped them away roughly.

"I remember Becca wanted girls. She said boys were all troublemakers like me. And I remember her guy- Harold Pine. She'd been dating him for years on and off- then the war came along, and she let him go with it."

"Wow. She sounds amazing. I wish I could meet her."

"Me too."

Darcy didn't know what to say to that, so she started discussing her grandma Ethel (maternal), who was convinced Darcy was going to hell for remaining single as long as she had.

James listened pretty carefully, considering how stupid the conversation really was. It was reassuring, seeing him smile slightly at her dumb jokes and self-deprecating comments. She didn't usually make such a fool of herself, but he needed the lightheartedness right then.

Around 6 PM the sun started to set, and Darcy knew she had to switch over with Steve. She pulled over at a rest stop and turned around.  
"Steeeeve! Captain Snoozles! Time to wake up!"

He sat up with a grunt and rubbed his face.  
"Whazzat!? Everything okay?"

"It's all good buddy, we just have to switch. I can't see worth a damn in the dark- I'll miss every exit and drive us into oncoming traffic."

Steve nodded gamely and excused himself to use the little boys' room. Darcy glanced at herself in the mirror and winced- dry skin from the heater, circles under her eyes- what a mess.

Pulling out her makeup bag from her purse, she got to work moisturizing her skin and dabbing on some foundation. Even if she was in a car for the rest of the night, she wanted to look nice.

James was watching her very intently, but she pretended she hadn't noticed. Instead, she applied a coat of mascara in short, quick strokes. She skipped her eyeliner, but applied a coat of her favorite lipstick- a cheery red that reminded her of the 4th of July and Christmas all at once.

She was packing up her makeup when she felt a gentle touch at the corner of her mouth- James, wiping her face with his thumb.

"Your lipstick smeared."

Darcy reactively pressed her fingers to her lips, and sure enough, there was a tiny trace of red on her cheek.

Unsure of the butterflies in her stomach, Darcy thanked James with a bright smile. Then she clambered into the backseat without exiting the car.

"What're you doing?"  
"I need a nap, James. I'm no super soldier, and my stamina is shot right now. Be nice to Steve, by the way. If he gets annoying, though, you can read a book on my Kindle."

Darcy dug through her bag and found it, showing James how to use it. He understood quickly enough, just as Steve re-entered the SUV.

"Alright. I just talked with Nat- she says she doesn't want us driving into the city, so we're rendezvousing with her near the state border. She'll take it from there."

Darcy mumbled a sleepy assent, and James nodded, not looking up from the device in his hands.

Steve turned the key and they were soon cruising down the highway. James didn't so much as look at him, focused as he was on Herman Melville's "Moby Dick".

After an hour's silence, though, James spoke up. He didn't exactly say much- just, "Rebecca's alive."

But it made Steve's eyes get a little watery- he remembered beautiful Rebecca and how much she'd loved Bucky, and even him.

"That's fantastic James- I'm so glad for you."  
James didn't respond, but he did hit the back button on the Kindle a few times. Then, he began to read aloud, voice low to avoid disturbing Darcy.

"Call me Ishmael…"

They arrived in New York by 11 AM the next day, with Darcy at the wheel and James asleep in the back again.

It was raining, so the field Natasha had told them to meet her at was muddy and wet. Darcy was glad she'd opted to wear her knee-high boots, as she squished and splashed in the damp earth.

Steve and Bucky weren't as lucky, both calf deep in the mud. Tired, grumpy, and dirty, the three of them climbed into Natasha's waiting helicopter. Darcy had never been in one before, and enjoyed the bird's eye view of New York immensely. Steve and James were very familiar with helicopters, in comparison, so they both dozed off.

Darcy was on the verge of falling asleep herself when Natasha quietly spoke up from the pilot's seat.

"I'm impressed. James seems calmer."

Darcy shrugged. "I tried my best to avoid triggers and to make him comfortable. Steve kind of threw me for a loop, though."

The assassin laughed and Darcy wondered what was so funny. She didn't get a chance to find out though, as the helicopter touched down onto a landing pad- right next to a giant "A" on a skyscraper.

Realization dawned and Darcy couldn't control herself.

"Tell me that's NOT Avengers Tower!?"

"It's not Avenger's Tower."

"Whatever, Natasha, you know what I mean."

Darcy giddily climbed out of her seat and out of the helicopter, almost shoving Natasha in her eagerness to see the famous Tower's insignia up close. Maybe it was dorky of her to idolize and care about a couple of super-special individuals who did a lot of good, but she couldn't help herself. She cared about Thor, she really liked Natasha despite her manipulation, and Tony Stark was a fucking _legend._

Even Cap was bearable.

Impatient to see what was taking so long, Darcy turned on her heel to spur on James and Steve.

James stood near the edge of the landing pad, warily looking about him.

Steve looked confused, and Natasha indifferent (though that seemed like a real act).

Sighing, Darcy curbed her enthusiasm and quietly asked the two to head inside- she'd talk to James.

Natasha rolled her eyes and Steve worriedly glanced behind him as they walked inside.

Alone with James, Darcy walked over to him, making sure she made enough noise that he knew she was approaching.

As she came closer, she could see that blank look on James' face- the one that screamed "I CAN'T COPE RIGHT NOW" and Darcy wished she could help take away some of that frustration and helplessness- Lord knew she'd had plenty of experience with the emotion.

Instead, Darcy placed a gentle hand on James' shoulder, and then sat down crosslegged near him. She didn't speak, instead opting to look at the skyline with him.

A few minutes passed before James spoke up.

From her angle, he seemed like a giant, looming high up in the sky. His voice was oddly detached too, as he murmured, "It's different."

"I know. I know, hon, it's different. But some things haven't changed a bit."

James wearily lowered himself into a seated position, legs loosely crossed. Darcy resisted the urge to give him a hug, and instead opted to squeeze his knee lightly.

"I got your back, buddy. I work in the city, so I can visit whenever."

James immediately shrunk back, inching away.

Perplexed, Darcy sent him her best "what the fuck" look and arched an eyebrow.

"Idon'twantyoutoleave."

"What's that? I don't speak mumble, James."  
Sighing, James rubbed his face and pinched his nose, seeming entirely too world-weary for someone who couldn't be biologically older than 30.

"I don't want you to leave. I like having you around."

Darcy tried not to beam, but she kind of failed, biting her lip in her valiant attempt.

"Really?"

"Yeah. You help me remember without it really hurting."

Darcy didn't know what to say to that, so she just giggled.

"Well, you're gonna have a real hard time shaking me off, buddy. I'm a parasite! You'll never be free of me. Wanna go inside? I bet there's food, and I'm starved."

James nodded, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. Considering the moment a success, Darcy got up and offered James her hand. He took it, using her as leverage to stand up.

She made to start walking to the door, but James kept hold of her hand.

Darcy turned back, and almost spoke up but was halted by the gentle look on James' face.

"Is everything… okay?"  
"It is. Thank you, Darcy."

James squeezed her hand again, and Darcy could feel a little frisson of heat run from the tips of her fingers all the way down to the pit of her stomach.

With too much false cheer in her voice, Darcy exclaimed, "Okay then! Let's go inside!"

_Way to go, Darce. Make the guy feel awkward- like he needs more of that in his fucking life._

Steve had been worried sick for the entirety of the car ride from the farm to the outskirts of New York. He was worried for Darcy's safety, he was worried for James' sanity- and he kept slipping up and calling him Bucky, and then Darcy would glare at him and James would just blankly stare at him-

It hurt to see.

Natasha's presence was a relief- she was steady, a companion who could defend herself and also help James.

They were seated around a conference table when Darcy finally entered with James, the former looking slightly flustered as she found a chair.

"Hey guys, sorry about the wait."  
The doors whooshed open and Tony Stark waltzed in, with all the flair and confidence Steve remembered.

"Capsicle! Good to see you alive and well, bro. And Natalie, you look lovely and deadly as ever."

Darcy looked shellshocked and Steve could understand why- Stark was a bit of a live wire, and you could never be sure what was going to come out of his mouth next.

Standing up, Steve shook Tony's hand, greeting him in turn.

"Well, we've got ourselves some new friends here today. Who is this strapping gentleman here?"

Darcy's awe turned to irritation as James visibly grew uncomfortable, but to his credit he kept his face straight and replied, "James Barnes. Good to meet you."

Tony genuinely smiled and clapped James on the back, turning then towards Darcy.

"And you are?"

Natasha cut in before Darcy could eke out a response.  
"This is Darcy Lewis. She works for Pepper in the clean energy media division of Stark Industries, and she's also Dr. Foster's former assistant."

Tony's eyes grew the size of saucers- "THE Dr. Foster?! I've been trying to convince her to collaborate with me on projects now that she's with Stark Industries R&D but she keeps ignoring my calls!"

Darcy rolled her eyes and laughed. "Haha, knowing Jane she's probably used her phone as some new part to one of her machines. She would probably like to work with you too, I'll get in touch for you."

Tony clapped his hands and then remembered why they were even gathered.

"Ok! So I know that our friend James is having some troubles with his memory, and I've found someone who can help him!"

He paused, as if expecting applause.

"Okay then. I found a woman with a skill for memories- a mutant, to use that ugly word. Not one of Professor X's, but she is fairly powerful and definitely a good guy."  
Steve's alarm bells rang instantly- "How can we trust some stranger to pick around James' brain?!"

"Listen, I understand that it's a risk- everything about this is a risk. I've elected to bring her around here tomorrow morning for you and James to meet. If he likes what he hears, they can work on retrieving James' memories."  
Natasha laughed this time, and when everyone turned to stare at her she looked affronted.

"What!? I just can't believe how reasonable Stark's being."

A highly offended Tony cried out. "I made you supercharged Widow's Bite gauntlets! Apologize if you ever want to try them on!"

Black Widow and Iron Man walked off, arguing over unnecessary weapons upgrades. As he departed, Tony called out "I have guest rooms all down this hall. Help yourself to one, shower up. Dinner in two hours!"

Steve really wanted to shower, but he turned to see if Darcy or James needed anything.

"Are you guys gonna be ok?"

James quietly nodded, and Darcy sent him a big thumbs up.

Satisfied, Steve found a guest room that was unoccupied. He threw his duffel on the bed, toed off his mud caked shoes, and got in the shower.

James found his room fairly easily, so Darcy was free to go to her own.

As soon as she walked in, Darcy squealed- Avengers guest rooms were _swanky._

She knew from sight alone that the sheet's thread count had to be in the thousands, and the carpet was so plush her socked feet sunk into it.

Feeling at ease for the first time in almost a week, Darcy walked into the similarly luxurious bathroom. There was a deep and wide bathtub with mysterious faucets and nozzles on it. It was clear Darcy HAD to take a bubble bath right then and there, in order to understand the science behind it all (don't say Jane taught her nothing).

An hour later, Darcy was dozing in a bath that was still steamily hot (way to go Tony) as music floated through the air. Dreamily, Darcy made the effort to wash her hair and condition it, if only to look nice for dinner. Reluctantly, she climbed out of the bath and into the softest robe she'd ever worn in her life.

Toasty and safe, she lay back on the bed and fell fast asleep immediately.

Darcy was late to dinner.

It bothered James because Darcy was not usually late to meals (she usually cooked them).

Worried, he knocked on her door, once, twice, three times.

When she didn't open the door, he was about to get Stark to come and override the lock, when the door cracked open.

"Hello?"

"Darcy! Dinner's already started and I wasn't sure if you were ok."

Darcy's sleepy eyes shot open and she shook her head.

"I dozed off, James. I'll be right out, okay?"

Opening the door wider, she waved him away.

"Go! I'm fine, just tired. See you in ten minutes!"

James stared at her for a moment, taking in the fuzzy robe, and the pale, smooth looking legs emerging from underneath the robe.

He remembered (vaguely) that he'd always loved a woman with beautiful legs, and somehow that memory felt too intimate, even if it was once his. And to think that about Darcy wasn't right either-

He tamped down the images and walked back to the dining room.

Steve had wondered where James had wandered off to, so when he returned he sent him his best "Everything okay?" look.

James nodded and sat back down to his pizza.

Five minutes later, Darcy finally arrived, dressed in a truly oversized sweater that would probably fit Steve better, and tights.

"Sorry I'm late guys, I totally fell asleep on Tony's awesome bed- and where is the Tin Man, by the way?"

James shrugged (Steve almost smiled from how familiar the gesture was on his friend _Bucky_ but he kept it to himself) and Steve answered, "His lab. He rarely leaves, and if then only because Pepper made him, or the world needs saving. Or both."

Darcy snagged some pizza on a paper plate and got comfortable, enjoying the meal immensely.

"You know boys, it's nice to eat something you didn't have to make yourself. I cook a lot, mostly because it's cheaper and leftovers are delicious. Steve, did you cook a lot in ye olde Brooklyn, circa 1940s?"

James didn't look bothered so Steve took it as a safe topic to pursue.

"Well, to be honest, I couldn't cook worth a damn. Partially because food rations were always low, but also because we just didn't cook that fancily back then. Our options were limited to boil or bake, and boiling was cheaper than using wood or oil for an oven. Bucky- James, usually made the food. I cleaned."

Darcy cocked an eyebrow and moved one seat closer to Steve.  
"I didn't know you were roommates."

"We were. We shared a room in a boarding house- cheap enough for us to have money for food, but not too crappy that we were in danger of getting the plague."

James was following the conversation closely, that much was clear to Darcy. Steve saw it too, and he mouthed thanks at her when James leaned over to grab more pizza.

Taking a bite of her own slice of pepperoni pizza, Darcy asked, "Well, what did James used to cook?"

"Well, I remember James used to make soup and stew all the time, on account of me being so sick all the time. I never knew what he did with it, but it was always delicious- and it made me feel better every time."

Darcy forced herself to contain her "AWWW!" and instead chose to poke James' knee with her foot.

"Hey, you. After we eat, wanna try watching the last Batman movie? Or we could watch something happier, I'm not picky."

James shrugged again, so Darcy waited until he was ready to respond.

Steve ate his way through another half a pizza, unsure of how else to pass the time.

After 15 minutes of silence, he left, leaving James sitting and staring quietly. He was worried sick, but he also knew his presence grated on James.

Darcy didn't give up, but instead sat on the nearby sofa, feet tucked in under her as she listened to the roar of the fire.

Eventually, James came and sat in the chair near her, palms resting on the arms of chair.

He waited for Darcy to speak, or even just leave, but she stayed, half dozing.

She was close enough that he could smell the traces of perfume on her sweater- something sweet and feminine, but not cloying.

James silently counted seconds as he tried to lessen his awareness of Darcy's presence- for some reason, seeing her like he'd seen her in her robe- vulnerable, somewhat bare- sexy.

Before, she had been a clinical presence- pleasant, but not unlike a medicine which soothed the pain of his sickness. Now though- now, he liked to be around her because she made him smile. She made him want to get better for some reason, something Steve had failed to inspire in him.

He hadn't felt anything akin to desire in decades, and it was heady, the rush of it.

He knew the old Bucky was something of a Lothario, but at that moment he felt as bumbling and nervous as a virgin of 15, struggling to control himself.

It wasn't that he was so turned on he couldn't function- he just couldn't stop noticing her.

It was like in the car the day before, when she'd put lipstick on with all the allure of a siren. Something about her pale pink lips turning scarlet red with a swipe of a tube- her fingernails painted purple and green sparkly.

Once he heard Darcy snoring, he turned to look at her- properly.

She wasn't conventionally beautiful, but her features were arresting. Fine eyebrows above big blue eyes that widened and squinted to accuse and laugh all in the same moment.

Her mouth was spectacular- and somehow he remembered the pleasure of kissing a woman with pouty lips, without remembering the who or the where or the when.

Sighing, he shook his head. There was no point in getting attached; Darcy was leaving for her own life very soon, and he had no right to expect anything from her.

Carefully, he lifted her and took her back to her guest room, tucking her in as carefully as he could without waking her.

He crept out of her room and into his own, immediately shucking his shirt and shoes.

Laying back on his bed, he turned his mind to his current least favorite subject-

Steve.

He wanted to be happy to have him back, but every time he spoke to him, James could only feel an absence of emotion.

Perhaps if he'd been a stranger, he'd have loved Steve- been best friends with him. But knowing the depth and breadth of their previous relationship was intimidating- and he knew that, without meaning to, Steve projected his intense desire to resume said relationship onto James with the regularity of an eager puppy.

James didn't like kicking the poor puppy, but hearing Steve say "Bucky" excitedly was enough to make him want to claw his eyes out.

He _wasn't _Bucky Barnes, the same way he wasn't The Winter Soldier anymore.  
He preferred James because it was a clear slate- no expectations or memories for James to remember.

Rolling over, James punched the pillow to make it softer and got comfortable. He needed to sleep if he wanted to make any progress with Stark's memory-lady the next morning.

_In this dream, she's dancing in a club._

_The bass is thumping, the rhythm of the crowd is sweeping her off her feet, but she can't hear even tell what song is on. _

_She is naked, as is everyone else, and she is gyrating filthily in time to the beat. _

_She feels alive._

_And then the tune changes to something slower, something more primal. The drum beat slams in time with her heart, and Darcy looks for someone to share the moment with._

_A man approaches from the faceless crowds, and she can't really see his face._

_He's tall, and muscular, and well proportioned- and best of all, without even seeing his face, she can tell that he's smiling in a way that's warm and sexual simultaneously._

_They begin to circle one another, hips bumping in tune as Darcy pivots on her heel to meet his casual thrusts. They are quickly grinding, but it's innocent, and pleasurable, and not a one night stand. _

_Darcy wants to kiss the man, more than anything, so she turns her neck as far back as she can to touch her lips to his-_

_And then she sees the face plate, and the black grease around his eyes, and that ever present smiles is concealed._

_She pries off the mask and there's James' smile only twisted._

_Quizzically, he cocks his head and says, "I remember you."_

Darcy woke up in a cold sweat, with a racing heart and pounding head.

It was 3:22 AM, and she was still in her clothes from dinner. She vaguely remembered James carrying her to bed, but she'd been too sleepy to protest.

The dream lingered in her mind-

Her subconscious was being pretty obvious in letting her know that she though James Buchanan Barnes was a fine piece of ass, and she wanted to tap it like a maple tree for syrup.

Darcy felt overheated, so she stripped off her sweater and tights. It was still too hot, so she also removed her tanktop and bra.

Sleeping topless was common for Darcy in the summer, considering how hot it got and how infrequently she got to free the girls from their restraints. At night, she rarely wore more than an old t-shirt.

That night was different, though. The thrumming of the music remained in her mind, and the slight ache between her legs flowered into full on arousal.

Groaning, Darcy mentally face palmed as she evaluated just how turned on she really was-

Yeah, she was soaking wet after a sex dream about James.

Clamping her thighs firmly together, Darcy groaned to herself.

She was in big, big trouble.

Ivanka Asimov (no relation to Isaac) was nervous about her consultation with the Soldier.

Nerves had no place in her line of business, but there she was, sweating and panicking over doing a good job.

Her job being memory retrieval- part psychology, part hypnosis, and part mutated gene- she was able to take an individual within their own mind, to an extent, and allow them to access the memories which they needed the most to begin the reparation process. It was usually an arduous task for both she and the client.

Tony Stark's CEO, Pepper Potts, had been quite persuasive in convincing her to fly out that very night to New York City, which told her that whoever she was helping was incredibly important.

When the AI let her into a small examining room, two men and two women stood facing one another, each displaying nervousness in their individual stances- one with his arms defensively crossed on his very broad chest, the other tapping his _metal _fingers on the examining table. The shorter, curvier brunette woman was twirling a lock of her hair, while the other stood ram rod straight and flexed her fingers infinitesimally.

Putting on her most competent face, she smiled.

"Good morning! My name is Ivanka."

The broad chested one stepped forward, shaking her hand and introducing himself. The women followed in suit- the man who didn't make a noise or move a muscle revealed himself as her patient-

The blank eyes, the twitchiness.

It was textbook.

She'd been briefed with utmost detail, and had signed a NDC to prevent any leaks of information. She knew the man, James Barnes, was very, very damaged.

"I'm honored to help anyone who needs it with my abilities."

The redhead aggressively shifted her weight so she was leaning into Ivanka's space and asked, "Would you care to clarify the extent of these 'abilities', as you call them?"

"Not a problem. I was born with an innate ability to know things about people's past- somehow I just knew. It became dangerous for me, growing up in the former USSR, but that's another story. Right now, though, what matters is that over the past 20 years, I've developed a memory retrieval technique which causes minimal impact to the physical and mental health of patients involved."

James spoke, shocking everybody; "What about people who have no mental health? I've been toyed with, Miss. For years. Can you repair that?"

There was something too vulnerable about him- like he'd had his emotional defenses forcibly removed, and as a result he was unprotected from the world around him.

Understanding the bristliness of his companions, she decided honesty was the only path.

"Well, Mr. Barnes, I can't promise a complete recovery of who you once were. All I can deliver are the memories that were taken from you- good and bad. You might hate some of what you see, but those memories will be yours to control and take ownership of."

He still seemed unconvinced, so she tried a different tack.

"Do you want a minor demonstration? It requires no preparation and is completely accurate."

The brunette, Darcy, volunteered.

Ivanka took a deep breath, counted to 10, and then gently placed her palm atop Darcy's, pressing down slightly.

Through the pressure, small waves of information flowed into her mind- images, some bright and some dark. Quickly, she chose one that seemed the least intimate.

It took a moment for her mind to clear of Darcy's memories, but she recovered swiftly.

"I saw a pond, frozen over. I saw a little girl and an old man skating- your grandfather, I presume. It's the mid to early 90s, and the little girl wore a knit cap that had bunny ears sewn to it. I can go on, but you can tell that I'm right, aren't I?"

Darcy's eyes were wide as saucers as she glanced at her own palms and then Ivanka's.

"You… you saw all that? Gramps and I at the old pond- we never even took pictures together there. There was no way, we were alone…"  
Ivanka grinned.

"When shall we start?"

The broad chested one- Captain America- was eager, replying "Today if possible. I don't want to inconvenience you ma'am, but it's urgent."

The others nodded, except the one man whose opinion really mattered. Carefully, Ivanka moved nearer to him and placed a hand on the table next to his.

"Do you want to go through with this? I will be frank- it's going to hurt like a bitch and you're going to hate parts of it- but the end result will be complete and total recovery. It will confuse you at times, and you will probably need some medication if you're not already on it, but I think you can do it. I believe you'll come through with flying colors."

James' eyes flickered for an instant with something- agreement, perhaps, and he nodded.

Ivanka clapped her hands as cheerily as she could, considering the significance of the task ahead of her.

"Ok. I need time with my client for a preliminary evaluation and then we'll begin. James, is there anyone in particular you want with you during the procedure?"

Steve spoke up before he even answered, saying "I'll be there."

James' shook his head ever so slightly- "I don't want you seeing me like that. Darcy… would you?"

The woman nodded fiercely, chin upturned with strange determination. Ivanka could see something simmering between the two, and was glad of it. The man would need an ally throughout the process of recuperation, well past Ivanka's involvement with him.

Darcy was scared.

She stood with Steve, Natasha having left to go "shoot something".

She also felt awkward, knowing Steve wanted to be there- and he had a right to be, it made sense.

Who was she?

Perhaps a lighthouse for James, who was lost in the dark. When everything was illuminated, he'd see that Darcy was just a friend, and realize that Steve was the true rock to lean on in his recovery.

Steve's impressive jaw was flexing and unflexing, as he stood stoic and silently.

She was about to cave and ask him to go in her stead when Steve began to speak, without his gaze ever leaving the window into the examining room.

"I get it."

"What?"

"I get why he's so… attracted to you. Not in the typical sense, but just… you're warm and alive. You have a liveliness I just don't have- I might have, once, but… not right now. Not yet. I can't be who he needs right now- and you can. I'd be the worst friend in the world if I denied him that over some bruised feelings."

Darcy couldn't prevent a few tears from leaking out before she timidly laid a hand on Steve's arm.

"I know… you're right. You are right, but it doesn't mean you aren't hurt by it. I just don't want to cause you any pain- you don't deserve it."

Steve chuckled lightly, and he grinned at her.

"You've forgiven me for my stupidity from before, haven't you?"

Darcy considered it for a second before nodding in the affirmative.  
Steve laughed again, but he sobered quickly.

"I haven't forgiven you for putting yourself in danger's path. I've seen too many civilians go down because they tried to fight a fight too big for them."

His arm had tensed up under her hand, so she removed it.

"I'm sorry for scaring you. I just act sometimes without thinking- which is scary, considering my family history with impulse control. And it has to remind you of Phil sometimes, doesn't it?"

Steve turned sharply to face her.

"How do you know about Phil Coulson?"  
"We met, in New Mexico. Thor had come crashing down to Earth, and SHIELD sent their best to try capturing him, Mew-mew, Jane's equipment, and my iPod. I hated him for a while, but I was wrecked when I found out about… Loki's encounter with him. Coulson was one of those rare people who truly believed in protecting the world for the sake of the greater good- even if it meant stealing Apple products."

Steve smiled, a sad smile, but he squeezed her hand and then returned to his silent vigil for James.

Darcy sat down nearby and stared at her boots- low, chunky heels. Good for running, good for standing still for long periods of time. After London, she'd made it a point to never, ever wear heels when there was potential danger.

Ivanka interrupted her musings by gesturing for her through the window. Darcy sent a worried look to Steve, who smiled wanly in return.

Terrified, Darcy stepped through the door way and sat next to James, who lay on the bed.

"Hey dude. I was gonna make a roast chicken for dinner tonight. Should I make two? Maybe leave enough for sandwiches tomorrow?"

Darcy prattled on while Ivanka prepared herself. James was calm, though oddly detached.

She kept a hand on the bed, avoiding touching James. When Ivanka declared she was ready, though, James grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly.

"Thank you, Darcy."

A metronome turned on, and Ivanka slowly counted down from ten. James' face relaxed and his eyes shut. She carefully pressed her palms to the side of James' face, and asked James where he was.

"I'm in my brain."

_What do you see in there?_

"I see nothing."

_Let me help. _

(The pressure built for a moment and then ceased)

_There. Now look around._

"I see a forest! I see trees, and men running. Gunfire- so much of that, and trenches, and people shouting."

_Do you see any people in particular?_

"I see Steve- I recognize him. He's his old self- little."

_I see. Do you remember yourself from when Steve was little?_

"No."

_Let me open some doors- be careful, this might hurt._

(and it did, the moment she turned on some switch and memories began to flow in like water from a burst dam)

"It's too much- I can't separate any of it!"

_I can. Let me guide you through the earliest and we can build up to your latest memories, okay?_

"I can see Steve… drawing. He's still little… and I see a fair. I see the draft, and offices, and my uniform."

_Very good, James._

"I remember basic training- and then being captured in Italy. It hurt, whatever they did to me."

_Hydra is the one to blame for everything, James. I can see this, plain as day. You have no responsibility for what will come._

"I wish I could believe that."

_Look for yourself- you fought for your country._

"No. I fought for Steve. I think… I think I get it."

_Let us continue onwards._

"Oh. I guess… this is where I died?"

_Not quite but yes, it seems._

_But someone found you._

"I… I don't wanna remember this. I don't like who I was when I was Yasha…"

_You were never Yasha. You were James, blindfolded and drugged, and used against your will._

"I hurt people- innocent people."

_Who isn't guilty of that?_

"But Natasha… Natalia… She was too young."

_She is another victim, James. Do not blame yourself._

"I killed people for a living. I killed people with no emotions, I didn't give a damn!"

_Didn't you? You killed because you were given no other reason for existence- you were being pulled by strings like a marionette- and they put you away once you were done with the show._

"I… I don't feel so good."

_Do not drown yourself in the memories, James. Simply allow them to flow about you like water- be shaped by the flow of the current rather than the images themselves._

"That sounds like a lot of bullshit, Doctor."

"_I'm no doctor… but you sound a lot more like a person than a puppet right now, James."_

"I can see Steve again… Am I supposed to be mad at him right now? Because I am, he keeps losing fights with me."

_Ah. Well, that's up to you. Your emotions are yours alone._

"I forgot what that was like, I guess. And seeing Natalia… I don't know what to feel about that."

_I doubt you're the only person confused about their feelings for that woman. _

"Ha! Oh- Pierce. I remember him. Did I kill him?"

_Not from what I can see._

"I wish I had. He deserved it."

_Death is a strange thing. Sometimes we are innocent, sometimes we earn it- but we all reach it one way or another._

"I'm still here- I oughta be dead but I never seem to go."

_You've been dealt a strange hand. Don't fight it._

"Big words coming from you."

_You were a lot less prickly before this._

"I guess I- Bucky, was a bit of an ass. I am Bucky, I suppose."

_James, Bucky- they're just words. Who you are is found in your actions after today._

"Whatever, shrink. All I know is that I gotta figure out what's going on- Oh, there's Darcy."

_Aha._

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

_The girl means a great deal to you._

_Even after seeing your past memories, she remains important._

"Well she helped me out of a tight spot, and kept me from murdering Captain America. I owe her a coffee or something, at least."

_I think you can do better than that._

"You sound like my ma."

_You know what I mean._

"I can remember them…my parents. And Becca. Things are fitting together better."

_Good. Now… what do you remember about the Winter Soldier?_

"Shit… he hurt a lot of people. Killed innocent people and guilty people with same amount of remorse: none."

_Do you still think of yourself as part of him?_

"Maybe. I think I'll always have to remember what I used to be but I don't think it's going to be a part of my future."

_Yes, thinking of the future is good._

_We're nearly done James._

"Bucky. I'm Bucky. James is my father."

_Bucky._

_I like that._

_Before we go back, Bucky, I want to remind you- this isn't done._

_You're going to have flashbacks- night terrors, panic attacks. You will have to take anxiety medication most likely, to control the chemical imbalances in your mind. _

_You have survived a great deal of trauma- now you have to be careful with your mind, okay? It's delicate, and needs proper attention. Find a therapist, a good one. Talk to them._

_Tell them how you feel._

"Easier said than done, doc. I donno how I feel."

_That's up to you to figure out._

_And by the way…_

_Ask Darcy out in a few weeks, maybe._

"Mind your own business! She's just a friend- a pal!"

_Sure. _

They'd been under for more than an hour.

Steve was going insane, waiting for James to open his eyes. He wasn't sure what to expect- complete recovery seemed too good to be true, considering how awful some of the memories his friend would have to relive were.

But some of them were good, he hoped.

Darcy hadn't let go of James' hand, and he could see even through the glass that she'd been crying quietly. He wasn't sure what was between her and James, but it seemed like it was good for James.

Whether it was healthy for Darcy remained to be seen, though.

Steve must have dozed off, because Ivanka woke him up with her laughter. He nearly ran into the room, and stopped still when he saw James, sitting up. He was still holding Darcy's hand, but he stopped mid-sentence at his presence.

"Steve? You okay?"

(Steve's heart began to race with anticipation and hope and it was really too much for his overburdened brain to deal with, to be honest)

"I'm fine… James."

James scowled in that way that was uniquely his and shook his head.

"I thought I told you long ago that my name was Bucky. James is my FATHER."

Steve gripped a nearby table and tried to get a grip- but his grip was too tight it turned out, as metal was crushed beneath his fingers.

Darcy burst out into guffaws.

"It worked, Steve! It worked! Ask him something!"

Mind working in overdrive, he struggled to think of something- anything.

Inspiration hit when he saw Bucky's sweaty face, lightly covered in stubble.

"Remember the first time you shaved?"

Bucky's mouth stretched into a wide smile as he slapped the table.

"Goddamnit Steve, do we have to remember that of all things?"

"What's the big deal, Bucky?" Darcy looked indignant at not knowing, so Bucky patted her hand and began to tell the story of the first time him, at age 11, shaved his face with his father's razor without any soap or lotion.

"I was covered in cuts! Steve tried to steal some of Becca's makeup to cover it up, but it didn't work. I got caught and Pops nearly whupped me for being so damn stupid."

Everyone else got caught up in laughing and talking, but Steve couldn't stop staring.

Bucky was alive- not James but Bucky, his friend.

It was normal- listening to him charm women.

It felt right again.

Bucky hauled himself off the bed and stretched, wincing at the pounding in his head. Darcy was discussing medication and ongoing treatment with Ivanka, so Steve gestured out towards the living area.

"Wanna beer?"

"I never say no to free booze."

Bucky sprawled on a sofa chair with some of the confidence he remembered- though some of the movements seemed measured and false. Steve ignored the niggling feeling and instead focused on the good.

Sitting across from Bucky on the coffee, Steve sipped his drink and watched Bucky chug his in 30 seconds.

"You always were a bit of a lush, huh jerk?"

"Shut the hell up, punk. And before you get all mushy and shit faced, I got to say one thing: Thank you. You didn't leave me behind when it would've made sense to. You never gave up on me. I have my identity back, sort of, thanks to you. And I'm sorry I've been an ass to you for the past few days."

"That's nothing Buck- how many times have you saved me from bullies and snipers? We're square- always were. You're my brother, so you never owed me a thing."

Bucky leaned over and gripped Steve's shoulder. Taking the moment, Steve grabbed Bucky and hugged him.

It felt cathartic to hold on to his friend again- to know he was almost whole.

"I missed ya, jerk."

"Shut up, punk. You're ruining the moment." 


End file.
